U 


oSLHW  Nelson 


I 


THE    OLD     GENTLEMAN    OF 
THE    BLACK    STOCK 


THE  OLD  GENTLEMAN 

OF     THE 

BLACK   STOCK 

BY 
THOMAS     NELSON     PAGE 

ILLUSTRATED  BY 
HOWARD  CHANDLER  CHRISTY 


NEW    YORK 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1902 

t,  1897,  1901,  by  Charles  Scrttmer's  Sans 


TO   MY   DAUGHTERS 
MINNA   FIELD 

AND 

FLORENCE    FIELD 
MY   TWO    MOST   CONSTANT 

AND 
INDULGENT   READERS 


PREFACE 

A*  the  suggestion  of  friends  who  have 
expressed  a  wish  to  know  more  of 
the  history  of  Elizabeth  Dale  than  has  been 
told,  I  have  availed  myself  of  the  opportunity 
offered  by  the  publication  of  this  new  edition 
of  "The  Old  Gentleman  of  the  Black  Stock" 
illustrated  by  Mr.  Christy's  gifted  pencil,  to 
enlarge  the  story. 

I  hope  those  who  have  done  me  the  honor 
to  accept  the  Old  Gentleman  of  the  Black 
Stock  and  Elizabeth  Dale  among  their  friends 
will  feel  that  I  have  tried  to  add  to  their  his 
tory  in  more  ways  than  one. 

It  has  been  a  grateful  task.  For  the  old 

section  of  that  Ancient  Town  through  which 

the  Old  Gentleman  of  the  Black  Stock  moved 

gravely  in  the  years  when  the  lover-scarred 

[  vii  1 


PREFACE 

Beech  shaded  his  tangled  yard,  and  which 
Elizabeth  Dale  lighted  with  her  presence,  has 
quite  passed  away. 

Cinderella^s  Coach  comes  along  only  in  the 
Fairy-time  of  Youth. 

T.  N.  P. 


CONTENTS 
* 

Preface  vii 

I.  A  Primeval  Relic  1 

II.   The  Hill-and-Dale  Carriage  11 

III.  Easham  Miles  S6 

IV.  An  Old  Mans  Intimates  41 
V.  Of  the  Fragrance  of  Rosemary  58 

VI.  Easham  Miles  s  History  63 

VII.  In  which  Easham  Miles  loses  his  Hat  71 

VIII.   Of  a  Maker  of  Mud  Pies  75 

IX.   The  Carved  Heart  88 

X.  Showing  that  Love  is  still  a  Native  of 

the  Rocks  96 

XL  A  Warning  and  an  Example  122 
XIL  Elizabeth  Dale  makes   Tea  for  Two 

Lone  Men  148 

XIII.  Basham  Miles  s  Will  164 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FROM    DRAWINGS    IN    COLOR    BY    HOWARD 
CHANDLER    CHRISTY 


Vignette  Title-Page 

"My  son,  when  you  want  a  wife, 
stop  a  carriage  like  that  and  pick 
one  out  of  it"  Facing  page  14 

She  made  one  of  the  prettiest  pictures  in  the 
world  18 

It  was  as  different  from  the  new  houses  near 
it  as  its  master  himself  was  from  the  other  men 
on  the  street  44- 

She  reached  up  and  wrapped  it  deftly  about 
him  herself  72 

"  Why,  Burton  I  Where  on  earth  have  you 
been?"  84 

In  a  little  while  she  was  holding  the  old  mans 
hand  15G 

She  did  not  take  her  hand  away  from  me          162 


THE    OLD    GENTLEMAN 

OF    THE    BLACK    STOCK 

I 
A     PRIMEVAL    RELIC 

HE  was  one  of  my  first  acquaintances 
when  I  came  up  to  town  to  live ; 
for    I    met    him    almost    immedi 
ately  after  I  gave  up  my  country  identity  and 
melted  into  the  sea  of  the  city,  though  I  did 
not  learn  his  name  for  some  time  afterwards, 
and   therefore    knew  him,  as    I  found   many 
others  did,  simply  as,  "the  Old  Gentleman  of 
the  Black  Stock." 

Why  I  spoke  to  him  that  summer  morning 
on  the  shaded  street  I  can  readily  understand; 
but  why  he  spoke  to  me  I  did  not  know  until 
long  afterwards.  I  was  lonely  and  homesick.  I 
had  not  yet  met  any  one  except  my  cousin, 
who  had  given  me  a  place  in  his  law  office, 

f  i] 


$ •  J*.  02  ;  Q  k  IX  «t  GENTLEMAN 
and  was  most  kincl  to  me,  but  was  too  busy  a 
man  to  talk  much ;  the  two  or  three  gentle 
men,  all  older  than  myself,  who  had  offices  on 
our  floor ;  and  the  few  people  who  lived  at  the 
little  private  boarding-house  in  the  old  part  of 
the  town,  where  I  had  taken  the  tiny  hall  room 
on  the  third  floor  and  furnished  it  with  dreams. 
All  of  these  last,  too,  were  older  than  I,  and 
seemed  so  very  much  older.  At  twenty-one  a 
few  years  make  such  a  great  difference !  More 
over,  all  the  young  people  of  my  own  age 
whom  I  saw  on  the  street  appeared  to  know 
each  other  so  well, — just  as  I  had  known  my 
own  friends  in  the  country, — and  to  be  so  en 
tirely  all-sufficient  to  each  other,  that  it  made 
me  feel  pushed  out  and  shut  off  from  all  the 
rest  of  the  world. 

So,  I  remember  that  as  I  walked  that  morn 
ing  down  the  shaded,  quiet  street  with  the  old 
square  houses  on  either  side  set  back  amid 
trees  in  their  big  yards,  I  had  forgotten  my 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

dreams  of  the  future,  which  had  hitherto 
gilded  my  lone  little  room  and  peopled  my 
quiet  office,  and  was  back  among  the  over 
grown  fence-rows  and  fields  of  my  country 
home. 

It  was  then  that  I  met  for  the  first  time  the 
Old  Gentleman  of  the  Black  Stock,  and  he 
spoke  to  me. 

Of  course,  then,  I  spoke  to  him.  I  was  ready 
to  speak  to  any  one ;  would  have  spoken  to  any 
one  in  the  world.  I  had,  indeed,  not  yet  gotten 
over  the  strange  feeling  I  had  at  not  speaking 
to  every  one  I  met,  in  accordance  with  the 
civil  country  custom  which  made  passing  any 
one  on  the  road  without  a  bow  a  breach  of 
manners. 

This  was  the  way  of  it : 

I  was  strolling  along  the  street  that  morn 
ing,  looking  at  the  old  yards  full  of  fine  trees 
and  shrubbery  in  a  tangled  and  somewhat  neg 
lected  state,  which  reminded  me  of  the  yard 

r  3 1 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

at  home,  and  I  had  only  half  taken  in  the  fact 
that  just  ahead  of  me  out  of  the  largest  and 
most  tangled  of  the  yards,  surrounding,  per 
haps,  the  oldest  and  most  retired  house  on  the 
street,  had  come  some  one — an  old  gentleman, 
who  had  paused  just  outside  his  broken  gate, 
and  turning  half  around,  was  now  standing 
looking  back  at  the  trees  behind  him.  I  insen 
sibly  followed  his  eye,  and  glanced  up  at  the 
trees  myself  as  I  walked  along.  There  were 
three  or  four  big  locusts,  two  wide-branching 
elms,  and  one  beech,  all  large  and  very  old, 
and  the  beech  quite  gigantic.  It  was,  perhaps, 
the  sole  relic  of  the  primeval  forest  which 
once  had  clad  these  hills,  and  some  tawny 
Tityrus  might  well  have  blown  his  wild  pipe 
beneath  its  spreading  shade.  At  least,  it  had 
known  of  other  times  far  back ;  for  on  its 
massive  trunk  the  scars  stood  thick  telling  of 
gentler  strifes  long  past  of  which  lovers  had 
graved  the  histories  deep  in  its  hoary  bark. 

m 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

The  beech  had  a  seat  under  it,  and  it  was  at 
this  that  the  old  gentleman's  gaze  seemed  to 
be  particularly  directed. 

The  trees,  too,  reminded  me  of  the  country, 
— everything  did, — and  I  suppose  I  must  have 
had  that  in  my  face;  for  when  I  brought  my 
gaze  down  to  the  ground  again  I  was  only  a 
few  paces  from  the  old  gentleman  at  the  gate, 
and  when  I  glanced  at  him  I  caught  his  eye. 

I  looked  away;  glanced  at  him  again,  for 
there  was  something  about  him  which  was  un 
usual — quite  as  unusual  as  that  square  of  old 
houses  and  shady  yards  in  a  growing  city,  and 
he  attracted  me. 

He  seemed  just  to  fit  in  with  them,  and  to 
be  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  people  I 
had  seen :  almost  as  separate  as  myself.  So, 
when  I  looked  at  him  again  I  tried  to  do  it 
as  if  quite  casually,  and  at  the  same  time  en 
deavored  to  take  in  as  much  of  him  as  I  could 
in  my  glance. 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

The  principal  features  which  I  noted  were 
a  tall,  slender  figure  neatly  clad  in  the  manner 
in  which  an  old  gentleman  of  his  age  should 
be  clad,  with  a  black  broadcloth  frock-coat, 
somewhat,  however,  more  flowing  than  usual, 
and  a  black  stock  up  to  the  chin,  with  a  high, 
white,  unstarched  collar  falling  over  it,  such 
as  I  remembered  very  old  gentlemen  used  to 
wear  years  before,  when  I  was  a  child,  but 
such  as  I  had  not  seen  for  some  time. 

This  was  all  that  I  took  in  of  his  dress ;  for  I 
caught  his  eye  again  as  my  glance  reached  his 
thin,  high-bred,  and  somewhat  careworn  face, 
clean-shaven  except  for  a  white,  carefully 
trimmed  mustache.  His  eyes  were  gray  and 
keen  and  were  set  back  very  deep  under  some 
what  heavy  brows,  and  I  looked  into  them  in 
voluntarily. 

He  did  not  give  me  time  to  look  away 
again,  but  spoke  to  me: 

"Good-morning,  sir:"  —  easily,  pleasantly, — 
[6] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

quite  so  much,  indeed,,  as  if  he  had  known  me, 
that  it  flashed  across  my  mind,  in  the  half-sec 
ond  which  passed  before  I  returned  his  saluta 
tion,  that  he  had  mistaken  me  for  some  one  else. 

I  replied,  however,  "Good-morning,  sir," 
and  as  a  sort  of  apology  for  my  stare,  said, 
"You  have  some  fine  old  trees  there,  sir,"  and 
was  passing  on  with  a  somewhat  quickened 
step,  when  he  said  : 

"Yes,  sir,  they  were  very  fine  once,  and 
would  be  so  now,  if  they  could  escape  the  uni 
versal  curse  of  Age. — You  are  fond  of  trees?" 
he  added,  as  I  paused  to  avoid  the  rudeness 
of  leaving  him  while  he  was  speaking. 

"Yes,  sir;  I  was  brought  up  amongst  them." 

I  was  going  on  to  say  that  they  carried  me 
back  to  my  home,  but  he  did  not  give  me  time. 

"They  are  worth  loving:  they  last!  —  How 
long  have  you  been  from  the  country?"  His 
deep  eyes  were  resting  on  my  face. 

I  was  a  little  taken  aback,  for,  apart  from 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

the  fact  that  his  abrupt  question  implied  that 
he  knew  at  a  glance  I  was  not  a  city  man,  I 
was  sufficiently  conscious  of  a  certain  differ 
ence  between  myself  and  the  smooth  young 
city  fellows  I  met,  to  think  that  he  meant  to 
remark  on  my  countrified  appearance.  So,  with 
a  half-formed  idea  that  he  might,  if  given  the 
opportunity,  explain  himself  differently,  I  sim 
ply  replied: 

"Sir?" 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  the  city?" 

"Oh!  about  three  weeks,"  I  said,  with  as 
sumed  indifference,  and  still  feeling  a  little 
uncomfortable  over  the  meaning  I  assigned 
him ;  and  gradually  getting  somewhat  warm 
over  it,  I  moved  to  go  on. 

"Where  are  you  from  ?"  he  asked. 

I  told  him  the  county. 

"Oh,  I  thought  so!"  He  scanned  me  so 
boldly,  and  I  fancied,  rudely,  that  I  said,  quite 
shortly : 

[8] 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

"Good-morning,  sir." 

He  bowed : 

"  Good-morning,  sir." 

It  was  only  when  I  went  over  in  my  mind 
afterwards  all  the  circumstances  of  the  inter 
view  to  see  if  I  could  find  anything  to  soothe 
my  wounded  spirit  that  I  recalled  how  gracious 
his  manner  was,  and  how  courteous  his  tone  as 
he  returned  my  parting  salute,  and  decided 
that  he  could  not  have  meant  to  insult  or 
wound  me. 

I  found  that  he  had  made  quite  an  impres 
sion  on  me.  His  appearance,  his  voice,  his  air, 
all  remained  with  me,  distinguished  from  those 
of  the  men  I  was  now  meeting. 

I  asked  my  cousin  who  he  was,  and  at 
tempted  to  describe  him,  but  though  I  went  into 
some  detail  and  gave,  I  thought,  a  faithful  por 
traiture  of  him,  my  cousin,  who  was  a  man  about 
town  as  well  as  a  lawyer  in  extensive  practice, 
failed  to  recognize  him  from  my  description. 
[9J 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

In  time  I  made  acquaintances,  and  in  fur 
ther  time  yet,  I  secured  practice  enough  to 
justify  me  in  selecting  more  commodious  quar 
ters  than  those  I  had  at  first  in  my  little  hall 
room.  And  as  I  fell  into  city  ways  I  began  to 
visit  about  in  society  more  and  more,  until  I 
became  quite  as  much  of  a  city  man,  and,  in 
deed,  of  a  society  man,  as  a  still  very  modest 
income,  coupled  with  some  ambition  to  increase 
it,  would  allow.  Yet  I  never  met  my  Old  Gen 
tleman  of  the  Black  Stock  in  any  of  the  bright 
houses  I  visited,  or,  indeed,  anywhere  else  ex 
cept  on  the  street,  and  there  only  very  rarely : 
perhaps  two  or  three  times  at  most  in  the  two 
years  which  went  by  before  I  ever  did  more 
than  acknowledge  with  a  bow  his  passing  and 
pleasant  salutation. 


[10J 


II 

THE     HILL-AND-DALE 
CARRIAGE 

TWO  years  or  so  after  the  summer  morn 
ing  when  I  met  the  Old  Gentleman  of 
the  Black  Stock  coming  out  of  the  shady  yard 
on  that  old  street — It  was,  I  remember,  in  the 
month  of  May — I  was  passing  down  a  busy 
street  one  morning,  when  a  vehicle  coming 
along  attracted  my  attention.  It  wras  only  one 
of  a  number  of  carriages  that  were  coming 
down  the  principal  driving  street  from  the 
fashionable  residence  quarter  of  the  town,  and 
were  turning  into  the  chief  shopping  street  of 
the  city.  But  of  all  the  number  this  one  at 
tracted  my  attention  the  most.  For  whilst  the 
others  were  shining  city  equipages,  with  showy 
teams,  and  fashionable  women  lolling  back  in 
the  easy  and  pretendedly  indifferent  style  of 
ladies  of  fashion  when  they  honor  the  trading 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

section  at  the  change  of  the  seasons,  who,  if 
they  knew  me,  condescended  to  acknowledge 
my  bow  with  cold  superciliousness,  this  vehi 
cle,  though  I  had  never  seen  it  before,  was 
familiar  to  my  mind  and  challenged  my  inter 
est  at  once. 

It  was  an  old  country  carriage,  —  and  as  I 
walked  along  through  the  balmy  spring-time 
air,  which  felt  like  feathers  on  my  cheek, 
I  had  just  been  thinking  before  I  saw  it,  of 
the  country  and  of  the  little,  willow-shaded 
stream  with  its  deep  pools,  where  I  used  to 
fish  in  spring  when  the  leaves  were  tender 
like  those  above  me,  before  I  became  a  lawyer 
and  a  man  of  affairs.  Just  then  the  old  car 
riage  came  swinging  down  the  hill. 

It  was  antiquated  and  high-swung  and 
"shackling";  as  muddy  as  a  country  wagon, 
and  drawn  by  two  ill-matched,  though  not 
ill-bred  horses,  spattered  with  mud  to  their 
ear  tips,  their  long  tails  tied  up  in  knots. 
[12] 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

It  was  driven  by  an  old,  gray-headed  darkey 
wearing  a  low  beaver  hat,  a  high  white  collar, 
and  a  pair  of  yellow  buckskin  gloves. 

It  reminded  me  of  the  old  carriage,  with  its 
old  driver,  Uncle  Balla,  at  home. 

But  what  struck  me  more  than  anything  else 
as  the  vehicle  passed  me  was  that  it  was  filled 
to  the  brim  with  fresh,  young,  country  girls, 
who,  oblivious  of  the  restraining  requirements 
of  fashion,  were  poking  their  pretty  heads 
out  of  the  windows,  three  at  a  time,  to  look 
at  everything  on  the  street  that  struck  their 
fancy,  and  with  glowing  cheeks  and  dancing 
eyes  were  chattering  to  each  other  in  the 
highest  spirits,  showing  their  white  teeth  and 
going  off  into  fits  of  laughter  over  the  fun  they 
were  making  for  themselves.  Whilst  on  the 
back  seat  a  sweet-faced  lady,  with  gray,  smooth 
hair  and  a  patrician  profile,  smiled  softly  and 
happily  upon  them,  well  content  with  their 
gayety  and  joy. 

[13] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

They  caught  my  eye,  for  I  never  saw 
more  roses  gathered  in  one  carriage;  and  I 
had  stopped  and  was  staring  at  them  open- 
mouthed,  with  a  warm  glow  curling  about  my 
heart,  and  a  growing  tenderness  coming  over 
me  as  I  gazed. 

I  suppose  I  must  have  shown  this  somehow. 
I  may  even  have  sighed,  for  I  thought  again 
of  my  fishing  days  and  of  laughing  country 
girls  I  knew  whom  these  were  so  much  like. 

One  of  them  particularly  struck  me,  and  I 
was  sure  I  had  caught  her  gaze  on  me,  when 
a  hand  was  laid  firmly  on  my  shoulder,  and  a 
voice  just  beside  me  said: 

"My  son,  when  you  want  a  wife,  stop  a  car 
riage  like  that  and  pick  one  out  of  it.  You 
might  almost  do  it  at  random :  you  could  hardly 
go  amiss." 

I  turned,  and  there  was  my  Old  Gentleman 
of  the  Black  Stock.  He  was  clad  in  white 
linen,  as  immaculate  as  fresh  snow.  I  smiled 
[14] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

my  thanks  to  him  and  passed  on,  whilst   he 
walked  up  the  street. 

I  had  not  gone  over  two  steps  when  some 
one  touched  me  on  the  arm,  and  a  gentleman, 
evidently  a  stranger  in  the  town,  said  to  me, 
"I  beg  your  pardon;  can  you  tell  me  who  that 
old  gentleman  is  ?" 

I  turned,  and  he  indicated  my  old  friend, 
for  at  that  moment  I  felt  him  to  be  such. 

He  was  walking  up  the  street  quite  slowly, 
with  his  head  a  little  bowed,  and  his  hands, 
holding  his  ivory-headed  cane,  clasped  behind 
his  back, — as  lonely  as  an  obelisk  in  a  desert. 

"No,  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  cannot,"  I  said. 

"Oh!  I  thought  I  saw  you  speak  to  him?"  he 
said,  with  some  disappointment  in  his  tone. 

"  I  did,  but  I  do  not  know  his  name." 

"I  have  rarely  seen  a  more  striking-looking 
man.  He  might  have  walked  out  of  the  pages 
of  Plutarch,"  said  he,  meditatively,  as  he  went 
on. 

[15] 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

I  do  not  know  just  how  it  was,  but  I  found 
myself  shopping  all  that  day.  As  soon  as  I  had 
gotten  through  with  whatever  I  was  doing,  I 
went  back  up  the  street  and  began  to  search 
diligently  among  the  throng  of  vehicles  there 
for  an  old  carriage  with  a  pair  of  wiry  country 
horses  and  an  old  negro  driver  wearing  gaunt 
lets.  I  went  up  square  after  square  looking  for 
it  among  the  shining  equipages  with  their 
pompous  coachmen  and  glossy  teams,  and  then, 
not  finding  it,  went  through  the  second  shop 
ping  street. 

But  all  was  in  vain. 

It  was  plain  that  the  driver  was  feeding  his 
horses  somewhere  at  a  livery  stable.  So  I  went 
even  so  far  as  to  enter  three  or  four  of  the 
larger  and  more  frequented  dry-goods  stores  on 
the  street  in  hopes  of  catching  a  glimpse  once 
more  of  a  pink  face  and  a  pair  of  laughing  eyes 
which  I  had  caught  smiling  at  me  out  of  the 
window  of  the  old  coach. 
[16] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

I  had  wandered  fruitlessly  through  several 
long  floors,  between  aisles  of  women's  backs  of 
every  shape  and  species  of  curve  or  stiffness, 
with  attentive  clerks  or  tired-eyed  women 
standing  over  against  them  on  the  other  side 
of  the  counters,  and  had  just  given  up  my 
search  in  despair  and  was  returning  somewhat 
downcast  to  my  office,  when  I  passed  a  mil 
liner's  window  and  happened  to  glance  in. 
There  were  my  rose-buds  clustered  together 
in  front  of  a  large  mirror,  my  special  one  in 
the  midst  of  the  group,  \vith  a  great  broad- 
brimmed  straw  hat  covered  with  roses  on  top 
of  her  little  brown  head,  shading  her  fresh 
face, — making,  as  she  stood  before  the  mirror 
pensively  turning  her  little  person  from  side  to 
side,  one  of  the  prettiest  pictures  in  the  world. 

Fool  that  I  was !  I  might  have  known  that  a 
girl  would  go  first  for  a  bonnet ! 

She  must  have  received  a  compliment  just 
then,  though  whether  it  was  from  one  of  her 
[17] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

sisters  or  from  the  glass  only,  I  do  not  know ; 
for,  at  the  same  moment  that  she  turned 
to  her  sisters,  she  suddenly  smiled  (thank 
Heaven !  the  sister  stood  on  the  side  toward 
the  window.  I  just  loved  her  for  it !) — a  smile 
which  lit  up  her  face  so  that  even  the  over- 
sheltering  hat  with  its  lovely  roses  could  not 
shadow  it,  but  seemed  only  a  bower  for  the 
lovelier  roses  beneath. — Lit  up  her  face?  It 
lit  up  the  world ! 

I  had  become  so  engrossed  with  the  pretty 
tableau  that  I  had  forgotten  I  might  be  seen 
from  within  quite  plainly,  and  I  stood  staring 
at  my  young  beauty  through  the  window, 
open-eyed  and  open-mouthed,  until  I  became 
suddenly  aware  that  she  was  looking  through 
the  glass  past  her  sister,  and  straight  into  my 
eyes.  Then  I  gave  quite  a  jump  at  my  rude 
ness  and  rushed  away.  The  look  of  embarrass 
ment,  almost  bordering  on  horror,  which  was 
on  her  face  as  our  eyes  met,  was  all  that  I 
[18] 


«' 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

saw,  and  I  almost  fled  toward  my  office. 

I  learned  afterwards  that  had  I  waited  a 
second  longer  I  should  have  seen  her  confu 
sion  give  way  to  uncontrollable  amusement 
over  my  flight.  And  I  learned  later  that  her 
mimicry  of  my  sudden  agitation  was  long  the 
entertainment  of  her  special  circle. 

If  I  fled,  however,  it  was  only  a  momen 
tary  stampede,  which  my  growing  ardor  soon 
checked,  and  I  stopped  at  the  next  corner, 
and  crossing  over  the  street  took  my  post  and 
waited  to  watch  from  a  more  secure  quarter 
the  exodus  from  that  blessed  Goshen. 

I  had  not  long  to  wait,  for  soon  from  the 
door  sallied  all  together  the  three  young 
nymphs,  each  under  a  new,  very  wide,  and — 
I  have  no  doubt — very  beautiful  straw  hat. 
But  only  one  hat  now  filled  my  eye  —  the  wide- 
brimmed  creation  which  served  as  setting  for 
the  charming  flower-garden  above  the  yet 
more  charming  flower-garden  below,  which 
[  19] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

even  at  that  distance  I  could  see  glowing  in 
the  cheeks  of  the  youngest,  and  possibly  the 
tallest,  of  the  three  sisters. 

They  passed  down  the  street  arm  in  arm, 
laughing  heartily,  especially  my  little  lady  in 
the  middle,  at  something — I  learned  afterwards 
it  was  at  my  sudden  consternation  and  unex 
pected  flight — and  turned  in  at  a  dry-goods 
store, — one  which  I  had  already  threaded  that 
morning  in  my  vain  search  for  my  unknown 
little  lady. 

If  there  was  any  common  though  unwritten 
law  against  a  man's  going  into  a  millinery 
shop,  there  was,  thank  Heaven !  none  against 
his  going  into  a  dry-goods  store;  at  least,  if  he 
could  devise  some  want  which  he  might  possi 
bly  get  supplied  there.  I  had  the  want  beyond 
doubt :  that  shop  now  held  what  within  the  last 
few  hours  I  had  come  to  want  more  than  any 
thing  else  on  earth.  But  a  sweetheart,  if  she 
were  wholly  unknown,  as  happened  to  be  the 
(SO  ] 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

case  with  me,  would  palpably  not  do;  I  could 
not  ask  for  her.  So  I  cudgelled  my  brains  for 
something  that  I  might  demand  if  I  were 
halted  within. 

I  finally  hit  on  neckties.  Neckties  have  a 
sort  of  halfway  place  between  a  woman's  wear 
and  a  man's  gear,  and  besides,  give  time  in 
the  examination  and  selection.  So,  having  made 
this  resolution,  I  ventured  in,  and  found  the 
same  rows  of  feminine  backs  —  augmented 
somewhat  since  my  last  exploration  by  new 
additions — bending  over  piles  of  every  con 
ceivable  stuff;  and  the  same  assiduous  clerks 
and  tired  women  standing  as  before  on  the 
other  side  of  the  counters  engaged  in  a  task 
as  hopeless  as  telling  Belshazzar  his  dream  — 
telling  women  what  they  wanted  when  they 
did  not  know  themselves. 

As  I  passed  on  I  heard  many  criticisms  and 
not  a  few  complaints — some  harsh,  some  only 
petulant — from  the  women  with  backs,  re- 
[21] 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

ceived,  for  the  most  part  in  silence,  by  the 
women  without  backs. 

Suddenly  I  was  startled  to  find  myself  quite 
close  to  the  large  hat  with  the  roses  which  I 
now  knew  so  well.  It  was  forming  a  bower  for 
the  pretty  head,  at  that  moment  bending  over 
several  pieces  of  some  lawny,  white  stuff.  The 
young  lady's  gloves  were  off,  and  the  slender 
little  hands  were  feeling  the  texture  of  the 
fabric  with  a  touch  as  soft  as  if  it  had  been  a 
baby's  cheek.  Her  face,  which  I  could  see  in 
profile,  was  deeply  serious. 

"It  is  beautiful — beautiful.  I  wish  I  could 
get  it,"  she  almost  sighed,  "but  I  am  afraid  it 
is  too  dear  for  me ;  I  have  only  so  much  to 
spend.  Do  you  think  you  could  possibly  find 
anything  a  little  lower  and — almost  as  pretty, 
that  you  could  show  me?"  She  glanced  up  at 
the  shop-girl  before  her  with  a  little  smile — I 
was  going  to  say,  almost  pitiful ;  but  the  ex 
pression  which  came  on  her  face  as  she  looked 
[22] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

into  the  tired  eyes  above  her  banished  that. 

"Aren't  you  very  tired?"  she  asked  sud 
denly,  with  the  sweetest,  tenderest  tone  iu 
the  world.  "I  should  think  you  would  be." 

"Oh,  it's  a  pleasure  to  wait  on  you,"  said 
the  older  woman,  sincerely,  her  face  lighting 
up  as  she  turned  away  to  her  shelves,  pleased 
at  the  tone  of  sympathy. 

And  who  would  not  have  thought  so !  I,  at 
least,  did ;  and  overcome  by  a  sudden  feeling, 
as  my  young  rose-nymph,  whose  face  had  lit 
up  at  the  praise,  turned  to  take  a  survey  of 
the  crowd  about  her,  I,  abandoning  my  idea 
of  neckties,  turned  and  hurried  out  of  the 
store. 

It  was  a  strange  feeling,  delicious  to  me.  I 
knew  that  I  must  be  in  love.  I  did  not  even 
know  her  name ;  but  I  knew  her  eyes,  her 
voice,  her  heart,  and  they  were  enough. 

As  I  came  out  on  the  street,  there  was  the 
old  carriage  coming  slowly  along  down,  with 
[23] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

the  old  driver  leaning  forward,  looking  anx 
iously  to  one  side,  as  if  to  recognize  some 
given  sign. 

"If  you  want  a  wife,  stop  a  carriage  like 
that,  and  take  one  out  of  it.  Even  taking  one 
at  random  you  can  hardly  go  amiss,"  had  said 
my  Old  Gentleman  of  the  Black  Stock,  and  I 
believed  him. 

I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  go  up 
and  render  my  first  act  of  assistance  to  the 
family.  I  signed  to  the  driver,  and  he  stopped. 

"You  are  looking  for  your  young  mistress  ?" 

"Yes,  suh ;  mistis  tell  me  to  come  and  stop 
right  by  two  big  rocks  in  front  of  a  red  sto'. 
Dyah  's  de  stc£,  but  I  b'lieve  dee  done  move 
dem  rocks.  I  see  ^em  heah  dis  mornin'  when  I 
went  by!"  He  leant  forward  and  gave  another 
look. 

"They  are  there  still,"  I  said,  recognizing 
the   two   carriage-stones    by   his   description ; 
"but  those  carriages  hide  them." 
[24] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

"Yes,  suh ;  I  never  see  sich  folks  in  my  life. 
Dee  ain'  got  no  manners  in  de  worl' !  Dee  '11 
put  dee  kerridge  right  in  yo'  way,  don'  keer 
what  you  do!  And  dee  won'  git  out  to  save 
yo'  life.  Mistis  told  me  to  be  here  by  three, 
an'  — 

"Why,  it 's  only  half-past  one  now,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  suh ;  but  I  likes  to  be  sort  o'  promp- 
tual  in  town !  See  dem  kerridges  by  dem  rocks 
now !  I  jes  want  to  git  in  dyah  once,  an'  I 
boun'  dee  oon  git  me  out  agin  b'fo'  my  mis- 
Uses  come.  I  don'  like  dese  city  ways,  an'  I 
never  did  like  a  citified  nigger  nohow !  I  got 
a  right  good  wrays  to  go,  too." 

"How  far  do  you  live  from  town?"  I  asked 
him.  I  was  growing  guileful. 

"In  and  about  eighteen  miles,  suh.  I  start 
b'fo'  light  dis  mornin'.  I  comes  from  Colonel 
Dale's  ole  place.  'Hill-an'-Dale'  dee  calls  it." 

I  knew  at  once  then  who  my  wild  rose  was. 
The  Dales  were  among  the  best  old  families  in 
[25] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

the  State,  and  "Hill-and-Dale"  was  as  well 
known  to  our  people  as  the  capital  city :  one  of 
the  famous  country  places  celebrated  for  gen 
erations  as  the  home  of  hospitality  and  refine 
ment. 

Colonel  Dale  had  died  not  very  long  after 
the  war,  from  a  wound  received  at  Gaines's 
Mill,  and  had  left  a  widow  and  a  family  of 
young  daughters,  whose  reputation  for  beauty 
had  reached  me  even  before  I  left  my  country 
home,  though  I  had  never  seen  any  of  them, 
as  "Hill-and-Dale"  was  in  the  farthest  end  of 
the  county,  quite  fifty  miles  away  from  us. 

"Well,  they  are  in  that  store  now,"  I  said, 
to  put  the  old  coachman's  mind  at  rest.  "At 
least,  one  of  them  is." 

"Is  dee?"  he  asked,  much  relieved.  The 
next  second  he  gave  a  bow  over  my  head. 

"Dyah  's  Miss  Lizbeth  now!"  he  said  in  some 
excitement,  trying  to  attract  her  attention. 

"Miss  Lizbeth,  Miss  Lizbeth,"  he  called. 
[26] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

"Heah  me,  hcah  me."  But  it  was  in  vain. 

I  turned  in  some  confusion  ;  but  she  was 
standing  under  her  big  straw  hat  just  outside 
the  door,  looking  alternately  up  and  down  the 
street,  evidently  expecting  some  one  who  had 
promised  to  come  and  had  not. 

My  resolution  was  taken  in  a  second,  though 
to  do  it  set  my  heart  to  thumping  against  my 
ribs. 

"Wait,"  I  said.  "I  will  tell  her  for  you." 
And  I  actually  walked  up  to  her,  and  taking 
off  my  hat,  said,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I 
think  your  driver  is  there,  trying  to  attract 
your  attention." 

"Is  he?  Thank  you.  Where?"  she  said  so 
sweetly  that  my  already  bumping  heart  began 
to  bound.  Then,  as  I  indicated  the  direction, 
and  she  caught  the  old  man's  eye,  her  face  lit 
up  with  that  charming  smile,  which  I  can  liken 
to  nothing  else  but  sunlight  breaking  forth  on 
an  already  sweet  and  lovely  prospect. 
[27] 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  she  said  again,  tripping 
away,  whilst  I  passed  on  to  make  it  appear 
that  I  had  only  happened  accidentally  to  see 
her  driver's  signal. 

I  turned,  however,  a  few  rods  farther  on,  as 
if  quite  casually,  to  get  another  peep  at  her. 

She  stood  on  the  very  edge  of  the  curb 
stone,  bending  forward,  talking  very  earnestly 
to  her  driver  out  in  the  street;  but  just  as  I 
turned  she  caught  up  her  dress  with  a  quick, 
graceful  motion  and  tripped  on  tiptoe  over  to 
the  carriage,  showing  as  she  did  so  just  a 
glimpse  of  the  daintiest  pair  of  ankles  in  the 
world.  Then  the  intervening  carriages  shut  her 
out  from  view,  and  I  went  on. 

So  the  name  of  my  prize  was  Elizabeth 
Dale,  and  I  had  spoken  to  her! 

I  did  not  fail  to  pass  along  the  street  again 

— quite   indifferently — a  few  minutes  before 

three,  and  again  at  frequent  intervals,  until 

more  than  many  minutes  after  that  hour ;  but 

[28] 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

though  "them  two  rocks"  were  there,  a  stand 
ing  monument,  and  "the  red  store,"  hallowed 
by  her  having  entered  it,  was  there,  and  many 
other  carriages  came  and  went,  the  old  coach 
from  Hill-and-Dale  came  not,  and  neither  did 
its  pretty  rose-and-sunshine  mistress. 

The  street  seemed  quite  deserted.  The  town 
was  suddenly  empty. 

I  went  home  to  my  boarding-house  with  new 
sensations,  and  if  I  was  in  love,  I  set  all  rules 
at  defiance,  for  I  ate  like  a  ploughman,  and 
slept  that  night  like  a  log. 


[29] 


Ill 

BASHAM     MILES 

I  DID  not  meet  my  young  lady  again  for  a 
long  time,  nor  shall  I  pretend  that  all  this 
while  I  cherished  no  other  image  than  hers  in 
my  heart.  I  certainly  carried  hers  there  im 
pressed  with  great  clearness  for  quite  a  period 
— for,  I  should  say,  several  weeks,  at  least — 
and  I  always  bore  a  sweet  and  pleasant  picture 
of  her,  never  wholly  effaced,  however  much 
softened  by  the  steadily  intervening  months. 
But  I  found  after  a  time  that  there  were 
other  eyes  besides  hers,  and  that  other  girls 
wore  roses  in  their  hats  and  roses  under  them 
too.  So  that  although  at  first  I  formed  all  sorts 
of  plans,  romantic  and  otherwise,  to  meet  her, 
and  even  carried  one  idea  so  far  into  execu 
tion  as  to  purchase  a  handsomely  bound  set  of 
Tennyson  to  send  her  anonymously,  and  mark 
one  or  two  passages  which  described  her  aptly, 
[30] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

and  should  compel  her  curiosity  to  penetrate 
my  almost  invulnerable  anonymity,  yet  courage 
failed  me  in  face  of  the  questionable  act  of 
sending  anything  anonymously  to  a  young  lady 
whom  I  did  not  know,  and  after  a  few  weeks 
I  made  another  disposition  of  the  poems,  send 
ing  them  without  change  of  marked  passages, 
and  with  a  note  which  I  considered  quite  fetch 
ing,  to  a  girl  whom  I  did  know. 

Still,  no  serious  results  came  from  any  part 
of  this,  and  I  applied  myself  somewhat  more 
faithfully  to  what  I  was  now  pleased  to  call 
"my  practice,"  and  never  wholly  forgot  the 
old  Hill-and-Dale  carriage,  with  the  pretty 
faces  laughing  together  out  of  the  windows, 
nor  became  entirely  indifferent  to  the  memory 
of  the  little  Hill-and-Dale  lady  of  the  big 
summer  hat  and  the  large  sunny  eyes.  If  I 
ever  saw  a  pretty  face  with  a  rose-garden 
above  it,  it  was  very  apt  to  call  up  a  picture 
of  a  milliner's  window  on  a  May  morning.  Or  if 
[31  ] 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  pair  of  pretty  ankles,  I 
thought  of  a  daintier  pair,  and  a  slender,  girlish 
figure  tripping  with  them  out  into  the  street. 

And  once  or  twice  things  occurred  to  re 
mind  me  strongly  of  her.  Once  when  I  saw  in 
a  paper  a  notice  headed,  te  A  pretty  Country 
Wedding  at  Hill-and-Dale,"  my  heart  gave 
quite  a  jump  into  my  throat,  and  when  I  read 
that  it  was  the  eldest  daughter  who  was  mar 
ried  and  not  the  youngest,  I  was  sensible  of  a 
feeling  of  relief. 

The  sister  had  married  an  Episcopal  clergy 
man,  whom  I  knew  by  reputation  as  a  fine, 
earnest  fellow  and  a  good  preacher. 

The  notice  went  on  to  speak  of  the  "well- 
known  beauty"  of  the  sisters,  all  of  whom  had 
acted  as  bridesmaids,  and  it  mentioned  partic 
ularly  "the  charming  appearance  of  the  young 
est,  Miss  Elizabeth,"  whose  character,  it  stated, 
was  as  lovely  as  her  personal  beauty  might  lead 

one  to  infer. 

[32] 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

The  notice  evidently  was  written  by  a  friend. 
It  went  on  to  say  that  there  was  a  rumor  that 
"another  fair  sister"  would  soon  follow  the 
example  of  the  eldest. 

My  heart  had  another  flutter  and  sinking 
at  this,  and  I  could  have  cursed  the  vague 
writer  for  not  giving  some  intimation  as  to 
which  sister  the  report  concerned. 

Another  occasion  when  I  was  reminded  of 
the  young  lady  was  when  I  saw  the  published 
notice  in  a  newspaper,  of  the  sale  of  the  Hill- 
and-Dale  estate  under  a  Chancery  Decree.  It 
seemed  that  the  old  place  had  finally  gone  to 
satisfy  long-standing  mortgages  and  later  debts 
accumulated  through  the  years. 

This  was  later  on  though.  I  had  been  re 
minded  of  Miss  Dale  occasionally  in  the  interim. 

During  the  two  or  three  years  which  had 
passed  since  my  coming  to  town  I  had  formed 
many  new  acquaintances  in  the  city,  and  made 
some  friends. 

[33] 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

I  had,  of  course,  in  this  time,  not  only 
learned  the  name  of  my  Old  Gentleman  of 
the  Black  Stock,  but  had  also  come  to  know 
him  personally.  His  speech  to  me  on  the  street 
corner  that  May  morning,  when,  with  my  heart 
in  my  eyes,  I  was  looking  into  the  old  Hill-and- 
Dale  carriage,  had  excited  me  enough  to  make 
me  take  the  trouble  to  follow  him  up  and  learn 
his  name  before  my  interest  in  the  incident 
subsided.  Indeed,  my  office-boy,  William  Kemp, 
proved  to  be  one  of  his  old  servants,  and  still 
waited  on  him. 

I  found  that  he  was  Mr.  Basham  Miles,  one 
of  the  old  residents  of  the  city,  and  owner  of 
the  ancient  house  and  tangled  yard  at  the 
gate  of  which  I  had  first  encountered  him,  and 
where  he  still  resided  when  he  was  in  town. 

He  had  once  been  a  member  of  the  Bar,  and 
had  had  the  reputation  of  being  very  clever, 
very  eccentric,  and  very  proud. 

He  lived  alone  when  in  the  city,  and  took 
[34] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

his  meals  at  the  house  of  one  of  his  neighbors, 
an  old  lady,  who  lived  next  door  but  one  to 
him.  But  he  was  away  from  town  a  good  part 
of  his  time,  both  winter  and  summer,  either 
visiting  old  friends  in  the  country,  summering 
at  some  of  the  smaller  and  more  unfashionable 
watering-places,  or  travelling, — no  one  of  my 
informants  knew  just  where. 

He  had  had  a  brilliant  opening  at  the  Bar ; 
for  he  was  the  son  of  one  of  the  big  lawyers  of 
his  day,  a  man  who  had  stood  at  the  head  of 
his  profession  and  had  died  with  what  was 
deemed  even  better  than  a  national  reputa 
tion — a  State  reputation.  And  he  himself  had 
been  in  partnership  with  one  of  the  leading 
lawyers  of  his  own  time,  a  man  who  had  died 
the  recognized  head  of  the  local  Bar. 

Old  lawyers  still   told  juicy  stories   of  the 
ability  and  skill  of  Miles  and  Thompson.  But 
he  had  suddenly  given  up  practice,  abandoned 
the  Bar,  gone  abroad,  and — "dropped  out." 
[35] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

No  one  of  my  informants  knew  anything 
further  about  him,  even  if  they  knew  this;  for 
it  was  only  by  piecing  together  bits  of  recol 
lection  and  of  old  tradition  at  second  hand,  or 
Heaven  knows  at  how  many  hands!  that  I  got 
this  much  from  the  men  of  my  own  time. 

Of  course,  there  were  other  stories,  border 
ing  on  or  even  touching  the  scandalous :  echoes 
of  old  gossip  so  plainly  pieced  out  and  distorted 
that  I  will  not  even  give  them  the  currency  of 
a  denial. 

There  was  one  unvarying  suggestion  that 
seemed  to  occur  often  enough  in  the  reports 
of  my  informants  to  reach  the  dignity  of  what  is 
known  to  the  Law  as  General  Reputation.  This 
was,  that  it  was  "something  about  a  woman." 
Some  said  about  one  woman ;  some  said  two ; 
some  hinted  at  even  more.  Some  thought  it 
was  a  scandal;  others  said  that  it  was  a  slander; 
some  only  had  an  idea  that  he  was  crossed  in 
love,  and  gave  up,  soured  and  disheartened. 
[36] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

The  more  numerous  part  credited  the  first 
story.  Men  are  always  ready  to  believe  a  vague 
scandal  of  a  man,  though  they  may  deny  a 
specific  charge. 

I  was  interested  enough  to  investigate  far 
ther,  for,  somehow,  the  idea  of  associating  the 
base  life  of  a  fribble  or  a  debauche  with  my 
fine  Old  Gentleman  of  the  Black  Stock,  with 
his  thin,  high-bred  face,  soft  and  spotless 
linen,  and  kindly,  firm,  gentle  voice,  seemed 
too  repugnant  to  entertain. 

His  countenance  was  grave,  it  was  true,  but  it 
was  the  gravity  of  one  who  had  faced  sorrow, 
not  shame ;  his  eye  was  melancholy,  but  it  was 
calm,  and  his  gaze  direct ;  and  his  voice,  which 
as  much  as  either  the  face  or  the  eye  tells  the 
true  history  that  lies  deep  and  unchangeable 
within,  was  grave  and  sad,  but  bore  the  unmis 
takable  ring  of  sincerity  and  command. 

So,  unwilling  to  leave  one  who  was  some 
what  linked  in  my  mind  with  the  object  who 

r  37 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

at  that  moment  engrossed  my  meditation  (for 
I  am  speaking  of  the  days  succeeding  the  in 
cident  of  the  rose-filled  carriage),  I  applied 
myself  to  the  further  and  more  careful  investi 
gation  of  these  compromising  echoes  of  vague 
tradition.  And  I  learned  that  there  was  not 
one  grain  of  truth  in  any  story  which  imputed 
to  the  old  gentleman  the  least  act  of  dishonor 
or  cast  the  faintest  shadow  on  his  history. 

The  two  or  three  old  members  of  the  Bar 
to  whom  I  applied  answered  my  opening  ques 
tion  in  almost  the  same  words. 

I  would  ask  them,  "Tell  me  something  of 
old  Mr.  Miles?" 

"Miles?  Old  Mr.  Miles?  Basham  Miles? 
What  about  him  ?  He  used  to  be  a  member  of 
the  Bar,  and  the  best  lawyer  at  it.  He  argued 
the  case  of  Calthorp  against  Brown.  Have  you 
ever  read  his  argument  ?  It 's  the  greatest  ex 
position  of —  Where  's  the  report  ?  Give  me 
that  book,  will  you?"  etc. 
[38] 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

"No.  But  why  did  he  leave  the  Bar?  Was 
there  ever  anything — ah, — out  of  the  way 
about  him — any  story  of — ah  —  ?" 

"About  Miles?  Old  Mr.  Miles?  Basham 
Miles?  Why,  no!  Who  says  there  was?  He  was 
one  of  the  highest  men  who  was  ever  at  the 
Bar.  He  left  the  Bar  because —  [Hunting 
through  the  book.]  He  gave  it  up  because — 
Which?— Ah!  here  it  is!— Listen  to  this.- 
Why,  he  gave  it  up  because  he  didn't  need 
it — had  plenty  of  money  without  it.  I  'd  have 
done  the  same  thing  if  I  had  been  in  his  fix. 
I  believe  there  was  a  woman  had  something 
to  do  with  it — jilted  him  or  something,  and 
he  never  got  over  it. — Ah!  here  it  is!  [Read 
ing.]  'Cal thorp's  Executor  against  Brown's  Ad 
ministrator  and  others.'  —  Listen  to  this!" 

And  then  would  follow  page  after  page  of 
clear,  lucid  argument,  which  only  a  lawyer 
would  appreciate  fully. 

"Why,  sir,   John   Marshall    could    not  have 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

beat  that !  He  made  the  Court  reverse  itself 
by  that  argument,  and  established  that  for  the 
law!  And  I  want  to  tell  you  that's  not  the 
easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  do,  young  man." 

This  was  what  I  got  from  three  or  four  of 
the  oldest  men  at  the  Bar,  and  I  stopped,  sat 
isfied.  I  had  established  the  fact,  which  I  had 
already  believed,  that  if  my  old  gentleman  had 
" dropped  out/'  it  was  his  own  choice. 


[40] 


IV 

AN     OLD     MAN'S     INTIMATES 

NOT  long  afterwards  I  met  Mr.  Miles.  It 
was  at  the  house  of  one  of  the  old  resi 
dents  of  the  city,  where  I  had  become  an  occa 
sional  visitor,  and  where  he  had  come  that 
evening  according  to  a  weekly  custom  to  play 
whist.  He  remembered  me  as  his  street  ac 
quaintance,  and  spoke  of  our  first  meeting  at 
his  gate,  and  our  talk  about  the  trees. 

He  made  no  reference,  however,  to  the 
incident  from  which  my  chief  interest  in 
him  then  sprang.  He  evidently  did  not  know 
I  was  the  one  to  whom  he  had  given  the 
advice  about  stopping  a  country  carriage  for 
a  wife. 

The  absence  of  some  member  of  the  family 
with  whom  he  usually  played  whist  seemed  to 
cause  him  keen  disappointment,  and  he  ap 
peared  to  regard  it  as  so  much  of  a  misfortune 
[41] 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

that,  partly  through  vanity  and  partly  through 
complaisance,  I  was  induced  to  take  a  hand. 

I  quickly  found  that  I  was  "outclassed/' 
and  that  the  haphazard,  "according-to-myself" 
game  which  I  then  played  was  worse  than 
nothing.  I  misled  him;  forced  his  hand;  lost 
him  tricks,  and  finally  lost  him  the  rubber. 
This  was  more  than  he  could  stand.  He  would 
not  play  any  more. 

With  a  reference  to  "the  rigor  of  the  game," 
he  rose  from  the  table. 

The  rest  of  the  time  he  stayed  he  talked 
about  his  health. 

I  was  feeling  a  little  aggrieved  over  his 
strictures  on  my  game ;  but  when  he  had  left, 
my  host  spoke  of  him  with  so  much  affection, 
and  my  hostess  with  so  much  pity,  that  I  was 
quite  mollified,  and  meeting  him  on  the  street 
next  day  I  stopped  and  spoke  to  him,  asking 
him  about  his  health,  and  taking  occasion  to 
apologize  to  him  for  my  wretched  performance 
[42] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

the  evening  before,  and  the  annoyance  I  had 
caused  him. 

He  appeared  not  only  pleased  at  my  atten 
tion,  but  gratified  at  my  inquiry  as  to  his 
health,  and  not  only  expressed  regret  for  giv 
ing  an  exhibition  of  what  he  termed  his  "con 
stitutional  irascibility,"  but  invited  me  to  call 
and  see  him,  excusing  himself  for  "proposing 
so  dull  a  duty"  to  a  young  man  as  a  visit  to  an 
old  one,  by  suggesting  that  he  had  a  few  old 
books  and  some  other  things,  all  old  like  him 
self,  he  said,  which  I  might  find  of  interest 
for  a  half-hour. 

I  went  as  I  had  promised,  more  from  a  sense 
of  duty,  I  must  admit,  than  from  any  other 
motive,  even  that  of  curiosity  to  see  his  old 
books. 

But  I  found,  as  he  had  said,  that  he  had  a 
rare    collection   both  of  books   and   of  other 
things, — the  rarest  I  had  ever  seen, — and  he 
himself  seemed  just  a  part  of  it. 
[43] 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

His  house  itself  was  a  rare  one  :  an  example 
of  the  fine  old  double  houses,  built  on  a  simple 
and  dignified  plan,  almost  square,  with  that  ad 
herence  to  the  simple,  classic  models,  adapted 
for  room,  sunshine,  and  air,  which  we  now  call 
"Colonial,"  perhaps  because  it  is  so  long  since 
we  departed  from  them  in  the  vain  endeavor 
to  be  showy  and  fine.  It  was  as  different  from 
the  new  houses  near  it  as  its  master  himself 
was  from  the  other  men  on  the  street. 

A  handsome  portico  with  Doric  columns, 
once  white,  but  now  a  soft  gray,  dignified  its 
front.  The  fine  door,  with  a  large  fan-shaped, 
leaded  transom  above  and  a  brass  lock  strong 
enough  to  have  secured  the  Bastile,  was  itself 
a  feature,  and  admitted  you  to  the  ample  hall, 
which  ran  entirely  through  the  house  to  where 
the  rear  door  and  a  long  back  double  portico 
beyond  it  looked  out  on  a  tangled  garden. 

A  stairway  sufficiently  wide  to  suggest  am- 
pleness  in  the  rooms  above  led  winding  up  on 
[44] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

one  side  of  the  hall  to  the  upper  floor. 

The  front  door  was  not  only  equipped  with  a 
bell,  which,  when  I  pulled  the  handle,  jangled 
for  more  than  a  minute  somewhere  to  the  rear 
outside  the  house,  but  it  was  garnished  with  a 
handsome,  highly  polished,  old  brass  knocker 
of  a  classical  design.  Everything  was  solid,  and 
had  once  been  handsome,  but  struck  me  now 
as  sadly  out  of  repair.  Indeed,  an  air  of  neglect 
and  loneliness  seemed  to  pervade  the  whole 
place. 

It  was  not  until  I  had  both  rung  and 
knocked  several  times  that  an  elderly  negro 
woman  came  around  the  side  of  the  house  and, 
after  looking  at  me  with  an  air  of  inspection, 
asked  whom  I  wanted  to  see. 

I  found  things  much  the  same  way  within 
that  they  were  without.  The  walls  were  hung 
with  paintings,  some  of  which  seemed  to  me 
fine,  but  they  were  dim  and  blistered,  and  the 
frames  were  all  dingy  and  old. 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

The  room  I  was  shown  into  was  furnished 
with  old  mahogany  furniture  rich  with  age 
and  was  filled  with  handsome  things ;  but 
everything  appeared  to  me  to  be  placed  with 
out  regard  either  to  fitness  or  comfort.  The 
chairs  were  all  ranged  back  stiffly  against  the 
wall,  and  vases  and  other  bric-a-brac  were 
scattered  around  in  a  pell-mell,  hopeless  fash 
ion  that  was  distressing. 

The  library,  into  which  I  was  at  length 
shown,  was  the  only  exception  to  this  condi 
tion.  It  was  large  and  airy  and  was  evidently 
a  living-room,  and  the  fine  old  books,  many  of 
them  in  rich  binding,  redeemed  everything. 

Yet  here  likewise  were  the  signs  of  neglect 
which  spoke  from  every  spot:  books  piled  on 
tables  and  chairs,  and  even  on  the  floor,  in  a 
confusion  which  nobody  but  one  long  familiar 
to  it  could  have  understood. 

My  host,  however,  who  met  me  most  gra 
ciously  when  I  was  at  length  shown  into  the 
[46] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

library,  seemed  to  divine  where  things  were 
in  that  room,  at  least,  and  made  my  visit  so 
agreeable  that  instead  of  passing  one  half- 
hour  with  him  I  spent  the  evening.  He  lived 
almost  entirely  in  the  past. 

"An  old  man  like  myself,"  he  said,  "has  to 
live  in  the  past.  My  friends  are  all  there." 

He  possessed  a  knowledge  of  books  which 
appeared  to  me  rare,  and  what  was  more.,  he 
had  that  delightful  art  of  endowing  books 
of  which  he  talked  with  a  certain  personality 
which  made  them  seem  like  living  beings.  He 
did  not  quote  books  so  much  as  he  made  them 
speak  for  themselves.  In  his  mouth  they  were 
not  books,  but  the  men  who  wrote  them.  He 
had  evidently  lived  with  them  much.  He 
brought  their  authors  in  and  made  them  talk 
with  you. 

He  appeared  particularly  fond  of  the  Poets 
and  the  Essayists,  though  he  declared  there  were 
very  few  of  either  nowadays  who  were  sincere. 
[47] 


THE      OLD     GENTLEMAN 

"They  are  the  true  philosophers/'  he  de 
clared.  "When  you  find  a  sincere  man  in  a 
book,  sir,  cherish  him.  He  is  like  a  sincere  man 
in  life :  you  know  him  at  once,  and  he  is  rara 
avis.  The  old  ones  were  sincere.  There  was 
something  in  the  time  that  made  men  sincere. 
Shakespeare,  of  course"  (I  remember  he  said), 
"because  he  knew  the  Human  Soul,  and  could 
not  help  it.  It  was  as  if  he  had  stood  face  to  face 
with  God,  and  dared  not  tell  anything  but  Truth. 

"Milton  was  sincere,  because  he  was  a  fana 
tic;  Bacon,  because  he  was  too  wise  not  to  be." 

Of  the  moderns,  he  said,  old  Johnson  was 
almost  the  only  Essayist  who  was  always  sin 
cere,  and  that  was  his  value.  You  could  always 
count  on  him.  He  was,  moreover,  "a  man  of 
heart ;  a  clear,  vigorous  man  who  saw  straight, 
and  told  it  as  he  saw  it." 

The  others  were:  "Nearly  all  posing,  writing 
either  for  popularity  or  for  some  other  miser 
able  end." 

[48] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

"Why,  sir,"  he  said,  "I  have  piles  of  them 
there  I  will  not  even  put  on  my  shelves;  I  will 
not  admit  them  to  the  companionship  of  gen 
tlemen.  The  poets,  at  least,  try  to  do  some 
thing;  some  of  them  do.  Goldsmith,  for  all  his 
fopperies,  was  sincere,  because  he  was  a  poet. 
His  pen  inspired  him.  It  was  the  key  that 
turned  on  the  divine  fluid.  Johnson  said  of 
him,  you  know,  that  no  man  was  more  foolish 
till  he  took  up  his  pen,  or  more  wise  when  he 
took  it  up.  Wordsworth  was  always  sincere  for 
the  same  reason.  They  had  a  high  idea  of  their 
profession,  as  poets  and  preachers  must  have." 

I  asked  him  about  Carlyle  and  Emerson,  for 
I  was  just  then  discovering  them.  He  admitted 
the  sincerity  of  both;  but  Carlyle  he  did  not 
like. 

"He  is  always  ill-tempered  and  sour,  and 

is  forever  sneering  at  others.  He  is  Jeremiah, 

without   his   inspiration   or   his  occasion,"   he 

said  of  him.  "He  is  not  a  gentleman,  sir,  and 

[49] 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

has  never  forgiven  either  the  world  or  himself 
for  it." 

"Do  you  not  think  he  writes  well?"  I  de 
manded. 

"Yes,  sir,  he  writes  vigorously, — I  suppose 
you  mean  that, — but  it  is  not  English.  I  do  not 
know  just  what  to  term  it.  It  was  a  trick  with 
him,  a  part  of  his  pedantry.  But  when  I  want 
acerbity  I  prefer  Swift." 

Emerson  he  put  on  a  much  higher  plane 
than  Carlyle;  but  though  he  admitted  his  sin 
cerity,  and  ranked  him  as  the  first  American 
literary  man,  he  did  not  read  him  much. 

"He  is  a  kindly  man,"  he  said,  "and  has 
( wrought  in  a  sad  sincerity.'  But  he  preaches 
too  much  for  me,  and  he  is  all  texts.  When  I 
want  preaching  I  go  to  church. 

"At  least,  I  do  when  I  can  find  it,"  he  said 
after  a  pause.  "That  is  not  so  often  these  days." 

His  eyes  kindled. 

"The  Pulpit  has  lost  its  power,  sir:  thrown 
[50] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

away  its  best  prerogative — the  gift  of  preach 
ing.  The  Clergy  no  more  preach  with  power, 
because  they  no  more  believe  with  strength. 
They  find  many  of  the  old  dogma  undermined 
and  worthless,  and  think  the  whole  structure 
is  tottering.  So  they  set  to  work  to  build  up 
the  entire  fabric  anew.  They  waste  their  puny 
strength  laying  a  few  sticks  about  the  founda 
tion.  They  do  not  apprehend  that  deep  down 
lies  the  solid  rock  unshaken,  and  that  on  this 
alone  Man's  spiritual  nature  craves  to  rest.  The 
Roman  Church  knows  this.  It  is  wise,  for  it  is 
the  garner  house  of  experience. 

"Why  should  I  go  to  hear  a  young  man,  of 
far  less  knowledge  than  myself,  holding  forth 
to  worldly  people  worldly  considerations  to  in 
duce  them  to  embrace  a  religion  of  which  the 
founder  preached  the  blessedness  of  Sorrow! 
The  poorest  preacher,  sir,  is  impressive  so  long 
as  he  believes  himself  the  Minister  of  God.  I 
may  not  accept  his  message,  but  if  he  believes 
[51  1 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

in  his  mission  I  shall  respect  him.  If,  however, 
he  questions  his  own  credentials  I  will  not  lis 
ten  to  him. 

"But  I  am  getting  to  preaching  myself/'  he 
said,  with  a  smile.  "We  were  speaking  of  the 
Essayists  ? 

"After  all,"  he  said,  "the  best  of  these 
Essayists  to  me  is  the  first,  Plutarch;  and 
next  to  him  the  second,  Montaigne.  Plutarch 
is  as  modern  as  if  he  had  just  written,  because 
he  knew  Human  Nature.  Human  Nature  is  al 
ways  the  same.  Montaigne  drew  from  Plutarch, 
and  the  others  from  Montaigne.  They  have  all 
been  pillaging  him  ever  since  he  wrote.  He 
was  a  man  who  knew  himself  as  he  was,  and 
had  the  wit  and  the  courage  to  be  truthful. 
Montaigne  was  not  so  great  as  Plutarch,  be 
cause  he  was  less  spiritual.  His  time  was  not  so 
great.  But  he  knew  the  Human  Mind,  as  Shake 
speare  knew  both  the  Mind  and  the  Heart. 
Why,  sir,"  he  added,  with  unwonted  enthusi- 
[52] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

asm,  "I  am  enough  like  Montaigne  to  be  his 
embodied  spirit.  When  I  read  Montaigne  I  feel 
as  if  I  were  reading  myself.  It  is  a  pleasure  to 
me  to  know  that  they  are  the  two  which  we 
have  some  grounds  to  believe  Shakespeare  read. 

"You  cannot  get  a  man  nowadays  to  tell 
you  what  he  really  feels  or  thinks.  Feeling  has 
gone  out  of  fashion.  Every  one  is  trying  to 
repress  his  feeling,  and  he  does  not  think  at 
all.  Convention  has  taken  the  place  of  Origi 
nality.  Why,  sir,  we  are  all  trying  to  say  what 
we  think  our  neighbor  thinks." 

It  does  not  seem  to  me  now,  recalling  it, 
that  what  he  said  was  altogether  sound,  but 
there  was  something  about  his  manner  in  say 
ing  it  which  impressed  me.  He  appeared  to  be 
in  strong  opposition  to  the  rest  of  the  world, 
and  to  hold  a  correct  position,  but  to  have  a 
tendency  to  push  his  views  to  extremes.  He 
did  not  see  things  precisely  as  they  were,  but 
through  a  medium  or  atmosphere  of  some  kind 
[53] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

which  threw  them  a  little  out  of  line,  as  if  a 
man  might  look  at  objects  through  a  pane  of 
old,  uneven  glass. 

I  observed  the  same  tendency  when  he 
spoke  of  old  times  and  things.  His  talk  of 
old  days  was  delightful,  but  even  this  was 
critical,  his  reminiscences  being,  I  thought, 
all  a  little  tinged  by  something — I  would  not 
call  it  sourness,  but  just  a  bit  off  from  the 
sweet  savor  of  perfect  mellowness, — as  if  at 
some  period  he  had  been  shut  off  a  little  too 
much  from  the  sun,  and  had  ripened  under  the 
shadow  of  Disappointment. 

When  I  came  away  he  accompanied  me  to 
the  door,  and  his  last  words  surprised  me: 

"  Young  man,  Domestic  happiness  is  worth 
all  the  Fame  in  the  world ! " 

It  was  a  cry  out  of  the  dark. 

I  left  him  with  something  of  sadness,  pass 
ing  out  of  the  wide,  cheerless  hall  and  through 
the  old  weather-blistered  door,  and  I  was  not 
[54] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

aware  until  I  got  into  the  sunshine  without, 
how  chilly  I  had  been  within.  I  had  an  inde 
scribable  feeling  of  half  sorrow,  half  pity  for 
the  old  gentleman,  which  did  not  change  until 
I  met  him  again  out-of-doors,  calm,  dignified, 
and  serene,  with  his  courtly  manner. 

I  also  had  a  feeling  of  sadness  for  myself.  I 
came  out  of  his  presence  half  in  love  with  a 
picture  of  a  young  girl  in  a  flower-trimmed  hat 
— half  in  love  with  a  memory. 

I  met  the  old  gentleman  occasionally  after 
that,  and  always  with  a  feeling  of  mingled  re 
gard  and  sympathy.  I  could  hardly  tell  why 
I  had  this  feeling ;  for  I  set  him  down  as  one 
of  the  most  self-contained  and  fortunate  of 
men — a  man  who,  with  enough  means  to  grat 
ify  his  tastes  and  follow  his  own  bent,  chose 
to  live  just  as  he  pleased. 

In  fact,  I  think  I  began  rather  to  envy  him, 
for  my  little  affair  in  which  the  missent  Tenny 
son  figured  had  not  ended  very  satisfactorily 
[55] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

to  me :  the  vicarious  recipient  of  the  volumes 
had  smiled  more  kindly  than  I  liked  on  a 
smooth-cheeked  young  man  who  had  an  un 
deniable  advantage  over  me  in  the  silkiness  of 
his  mustache,  the  freshness  of  his  complexion, 
and  the  nimbleness  of  his  heels,  not  to  men 
tion  the  matter  of  income,  in  which  he  proba 
bly  quadrupled  mine.  But  I  not  only  believed 
these  were  the  only  advantages  he  had  over 
me,  but  was  conceited  enough  to  have  even 
a  mild  contempt  for  him,  which,  nevertheless, 
did  not  prevent  my  young  lady  from  at  first 
openly  favoring  him,  and  afterwards  bestow 
ing  on  him  not  only  herself,  but  my  Tennyson 
as  well,  side-marked  passages  and  all« 

I  had  not  even  the  poor  consolation  of 
thinking  that  he  would  see  the  passages  and 
be  jealous,  for  I  do  not  believe  he  ever  opened 
the  book,  or,  for  that  matter,  any  book  in  his 
life.  Yet  when  I  saw  them  together  they  were 
happier  than  two  turtle  doves. 
[56] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

Anyhow,  the  affair  left  me  with  a  certain 
feeling  of  discontent,  not  only  with  the  world 
at  large,  but — a  much  harder  thing  to  bear!  — 
with  myself  also,  and  I  rather  envied  my  Old 
Gentleman  of  the  Black  Stock  his  quiet,  un 
troubled  life. 

About  this  time  the  vision  of  the  little 
country  girl  with  the  big  rose-covered  hat 
began  to  come  back  to  me  again,  and  took 
its  place  once  more  in  my  recollection. 


[57] 


V 

OF  THE  FRAGRANCE  OF 
ROSEMARY 

DURING  these  years  I  had  come  to  know 
many  elderly  people  in  the  town  besides 
the  old  lawyers  and  Mr.  Miles, — among  them 
several  old  ladies.  I  have  always  had  a  fancy 
for  old  ladies.  I  was  brought  up  in  the  house 
with  a  number  of  them,  and  as  I  am  fonder  of 
little  girls  than  I  am  of  boys,  so  old  ladies  ap 
peal  to  me  more  than  old  men.  They  fill  a 
place  in  life  that  would  be  quite  bare  without 
them.  There  is  a  certain  something  about  them 
quite  indescribable.  They  make  much  of  the 
mellowness  of  life,  and  not  a  little  of  its  fra 
grance.  Some  of  them  have  a  beauty  with 
which  the  beauty  of  the  most  radiant  belle 
can  hardly  compare. 

But  it  is  not  of  this  beautiful  class  only  that 
I  speak.  Even  when  they  are  faded  and  worn, 
[  58] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

when  all  tints  have  vanished  and  all  lines  have 
subsided,  with  Age  which  is  content  to  ac 
knowledge  itself  graciously  as  Age,  and  does 
not  pretend  to  a  belated  Adolescence,  there 
is  a  charm  all  its  own.  There  is  a  fragrance  of 
rue  and  of  rosemary,  as  well  as  of  roses  and 
violets,  and  thyme  and  lavender  have  their 
sweetness  no  less  than  heart' s-ease  and  lilies. 

There  were  more  of  these  old  ladies  in  my 
city  than  anywhere  else  I  ever  knew,  and  I 
had  come  quite  naturally  to  know  a  number 
of  them.  They  seemed  to  be  found  fittingly  in 
the  older  and  cheaper  part  of  the  town,  where 
the  ancient,  once  comfortable  houses  still  lin 
gered,  though  it  was  no  longer  fashionable,  or 
most  convenient,  and  as  my  practice  had  not 
yet  enabled  me  to  emigrate  to  the  desirable 
new  quarter,  I  had  quite  naturally  met  a  num 
ber  of  them. 

There  are  certain  characteristics  which  are 
common  to  them  all.  They  all  dress  in  black; 
[59] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

they  all  live  in  the  past,  and  talk  of  your 
grandmother  as  if  she  were  your  aunt,  com 
pletely  forgetting  your  mother;  and  they  all 
smile  on  the  little  children  they  pass  in  the 
street. 

I  am  rather  fond  of  children  myself,  and 
have  always  followed  a  habit  of  making  friends 
with  those  on  my  street,  a  practice  from  which 
I  have  at  times  found  certain  conveniences 
to  follow.  There  are  some  inconveniences,  of 
course, — for  instance,  in  seasons  of  snow,  and 
also  at  other  times, — but  they  are  inconsider 
able. 

Occasionally  at  those  recurring  seasons  when 
tops  come  like  winged  ants  on  warm  days  in 
swarms  out  of  the  ground,  or  from  somewhere 
else,  I  had  to  submit  to  the  ignominy  of  being 
stopped  on  the  corners,  and  compelled  to  dis 
play  my  inability  to  make  a  top  do  anything 
except  flop  around  on  its  side  like  a  headless 
chicken,  before  a  party  of  young  ruffians,  every 

[60] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

one  of  whom  could  "plug"  a  top  with  diaboli 
cal  accuracy,  or  could  "whip"  it  high  in  air 
and  bring  it  down  whirling  like  a  buzz-saw. 

Or  I  would  be  held  up  on  the  sidewalk  by 
a  gang  of  curly-haired  footpads  and  compelled, 
against  my  strongest  protests,  to  jump  a  rope 
held  by  two  of  a  group  of  pestilent  little  crea 
tures,  who  would  shout  with  laughter  as  they 
knocked  my  hat  off  in  the  dirt,  threw  sand 
into  my  eyes,  and  on  my  retreat  pursued  me 
down  the  street  with  jeers  of  derision. 

Or  I  would  have  to  play  a  game  of  marbles, 
while  I  lost,  or  stood  the  chance  of  losing,  a 
client  as  well  as  the  game. 

But,  on  the  whole,  I  think  this  had  its  com 
pensations,  and  my  acquaintance  with  the  old 
ladies  and  the  children  in  my  quarter  played 
an  accidental  part  in  my  knowledge  of  the 
history  of  the  Old  Gentleman  of  the  Black 
Stock. 

Oftener  than  once,  indeed,  as  I  was  playing 
[61] 


THE      OLD     GENTLEMAN 

with  the  children,  he  came  along  and  stopped 
to  look  at  us. 

"Lucky  dog!"  he  said  to  me  once  as  he 
passed.  "I  would  rather  be  able  to  play  mar 
bles  than  to  play  monarch."  And  he  went  on 
his  way  rather  slowly. 


[62] 


VI 

BASHAM     MILES'S     HISTORY 

BUT  this  was  the  way  I  came  to  hear  of 
his  history. 

I  was  calling  one  evening  on  an  old  lady, 
whom  I  knew  as  a  friend  of  my  mother' s,  and 
who  had  been  good  enough  to  call  on  me  when 
I  was  sick  once,  and  another  old  lady  happened 
to  come  to  see  her  whilst  I  was  there.  Her  visit, 
as  I  recollect,  was  to  tell  her  friend  of  some  old 
schoolmate  of  theirs  from  whom  she  had  lately 
had  a  letter,  and  who  had  sent  Mrs.  Gray  a 
message  in  it.  She  had  brought  the  letter  with 
her,  and  the  two  friends  read  it,  and  talked 
about  the  writer,  —  who  they  both  agreed  must 
be  older  than  either  of  them  by  several  years, 
—  and  about  her  family  and  history.  And  then 
they  drifted  back  to  their  girlhood,  when  they 
all  three  had  been  together  at  the  Springs  one 
summer.  It  was  forty  odd  years  before ;  yet 

' 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

they  went  over  it  all,  recalled  incidents,  got 
them  straight  between  them,  discussed  and 
enjoyed  them  again,  down  to  the  partners 
they  had,  the  flowers  they  had  been  given  by 
them,  and  the  dresses  they  wore  at  the  ball: 
all  as  if  it  had  been  yesterday. 

They  had  grown  young  again. 

In  the  course  of  their  discussion  the  name 
of  Basham  Miles  occurred  more  than  once. 

One  of  them  declared  that  some  incident 
occurred  "the  summer  Basham  Miles  was  so 
attentive  to  Betsey  Green."  The  other  thought 
not,  but  that  it  was  the  summer  after;  and  she 
tried  to  refresh  her  friend's  memory  by  remind 
ing  her  of  two  immense  bouquets  their  friend 
Betsey  Green  had  had,  one  of  which  they 
thought  Basham  Miles  had  given  her,  whilst 
they  could  not  make  out  who  had  given  the 
other.  And  then  it  had  turned  out  that  Basham 
Miles  had  given  her  neither,  but  had  given  his 
to  Anita  Robinson,  whom  he  had  just  met,  and 
[64] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

whom  he  danced  with  that  night ;  and  one  of 
Betsey's  had  been  given  her  by  an  old  gentle 
man  from  South  Carolina,  for  whom  she  had 
sung,  and  Burton  Dale  had  "come  back"  and 
given  her  the  other.  et  And  that  was  the  be 
ginning  of  his  success/'  she  said. 

The  circumstance  was  remembered,  but  it 
failed  to  fix  the  year  in  my  friend's  memory. 

Then  the  other  said: 

"Why,  don't  you  remember,  that  night  I  had 
on  a  lilac  mull,  and  you  had  on  a  white  em 
broidered  muslin?" 

"Oh,  yes,  to  be  sure!" 

This  fixed  it.  The  girl's  white  muslin  recalled  it, 
with  all  its  long  attendant  train  of  circumstances, 
after  nearly  fifty  years  of  activity  and  change. 

"  My!  my!  How  long  ago  that  was! — And  yet 
it  seems  only  yesterday!"  said  my  friend  quietly, 
softly  passing  her  thin  hands  over  her  black  dress. 

Her  eyes  were  no  longer  looking  before  her, 
but  back  at  the  Past. 

[65] 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

I  wondered  as  I  observed  her,  what  she  was 
thinking  of  in  that  forty  odd  years  where  lay 
embalmed  and  folded  away  so  many  things, — 
love-making,  marriage,  wifehood,  motherhood, 
widowhood,  age; — perhaps  (for  the  thin  hands 
still  smoothed  softly  the  old  black  dress)  of 
the  girl's  embroidered  muslin,  and  the  young 
girl  it  held  in  its  fresh  folds  that  night.  Her 
thoughts  were  not  painful,  whatever  they  were, 
for  a  pleasant  and  placid  air  rested  on  her  face, 
and  when  she  at  length  emerged  from  her  rev 
erie  it  was  with  a  gentle  smile. 

"Yes,  it  was  a  long  time  ago !" 

Her  friend,  too,  had  been  looking  back  into 
the  Past. 

"What  a  handsome  man  Basham  Miles  was 
then!"  she  said,  reflectively. 

"I  never  thought  so;  there  was  always  a 
self-consciousness  about  him  which  marred  his 
looks  to  me,"  said  my  friend. 

"Oh,  I  think  he  was  a  perfect  Adonis!  I  won- 
[66] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

der  if  he  has  ever  regretted  not  marrying  ?  I 
think  he  was  really  in  love  with  Betsey." 

"No,  not  he!"  said  my  friend.  "He  was  too 
well  satisfied  with  himself.  I  am  very  sure  Bet 
sey  never  thought  he  was  in  love  with  her.  I 
would  n't  give  Burton  Dale,  with  his  kind  old 
heart,  for  a  hundred  of  him,  with  all  his  clever 
ness." 

The  conversation  had  interested  me,  and  I 
had  sat  still,  putting  off  my  departure,  and 
feeling  a  certain  interest  in  their  talk  and  the 
train  of  reflections  it  had  called  up  in  me.  Still, 
I  did  not  put  the  parts  together ;  I  simply  felt 
vaguely  rather  than  saw  anything  which  con 
cerned  me  personally.  I  had  certainly  never 
thought  of  old  Mr.  Basham  Miles  as  an  Ado 
nis,  or  as  a  careless  and  arrogant  heart-breaker, 
and  I  followed  the  novel  idea  off  into  reverie 
and  vacancy. 

I  was  recalled  by  the  mention  of  the  name 
"Hill-and-Dale." 

[67] 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

The  old  lady  who  had  worn  the  "lilac  mull/' 
and  who  was  much  the  haler  of  the  two,  was 
speaking  softly,  and  I  had  lost  a  part  of  the 
conversation. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "her  health  has  been  very 
poor  ever  since  the  birth  of  her  last  infant,  and 
then  her  mother's  death,  just  after  Hill-and- 
Dale  was  sold,  told  greatly  on  her ;  so  she  does 
not  get  to  see  me  as  often  as  she  did  when  she 
first  came  to  live  here,  last  spring." 

"I  must  go  and  see  her,"  said  my  friend, 
softly.  "I  will  try  and  get  there  to-morrow." 
She  looked  away  out  of  the  window. 

"I  would  have  been  before,  but  I  walk  so 
badly  now,  I  find  myself  putting  things  off.  She 
brought  her  youngest  sister  to  see  me  not  very 
long  ago — very  like  Betsey!  I  could  almost 
have  thought  it  was  Betsey  herself  as  she  sat 
by  me  and  talked  to  me.  You  remember  that 
way  Betsey  had  of  stroking  your  hand  when 
she  was  sitting  by  you  talking  earnestly?" 
[68] 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

"Elizabeth?  Yes,  she  is  like  Betsey.  But  not 
so  pretty,"  said  the  other  old  lady,  putting  up 
her  spectacles  with  elaborate  care  and  rising 
to  leave. 

"I  thought  she  was  rather  prettier;  but  then 
I  see  so  badly  these  days.  Good-bye;  you  must 
come  again.  Don't  wait  for  me  to  come;  I  can't 
walk  much,  and  —  " 

"Oh,  pshaw!  Malviny  Gray,  you  have  been 
trading  on  those  three  months  of  superior  age 
to  me  ever  since  we  went  to  school  to  old  Mr. 
Persico  when  you  were  twelve  years  old,  and 
I  am  not  going  to  put  up  with  it  any  longer. 
You  are  as  arrogant  about  it  as  Basham  Miles 
used  to  be  about  his  intellect!  Good-bye."  And 
they  kissed,  laughing  at  their  pleasantry  and 
going  over  many  new  things  and  some  old 
ones,  and  starting  to  take  leave  of  each  other, 
and  beginning  again  over  and  over,  as  is  the 
way  with  their  sex  of  every  age. 

I  myself  was  leaving ;  so  I  handed  the  visitor 
[69] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

down  the  steps,  and  asked  to  see  her  home ; 
but  she  positively  declined  this  attention,  de 
claring  smilingly  that  I  would  think  her  "as 
old  and  helpless  as  Malviny  Gray." 

I,  however,  insisted,  declaring  guilefully  that 
my  way  lay  in  the  same  direction  with  hers, 
though  I  had  not  the  least  notion  where  she 
lived.  And  she  finally  yielded,  and  I  learned 
afterwards  was  much  pleased  at  my  attention. 
In  fact,  I  have  found  that  it  is  the  small  inci 
dents  not  the  great  ones  that  make  up  life. 

As  I  went  home  I  saw  Basham  Miles  turn 
in  at  his  gate  a  little  before  me.  His  great 
coat  collar  was  turned  up,  and  he  had  a  com 
forter  around  his  neck,  although  the  air  seemed 
to  me  quite  bracing,  and  as  he  slowly  climbed 
his  broad  steps  and  let  himself  in  at  his  old 
stained  door,  I  thought  he  appeared  more 
than  usually  feeble. 


[70] 


VII 

IN     WHICH     BASHAM     MILES 
LOSES     HIS     HAT 

1DID  not  meet  the  old  gentleman  or  see 
him  again  on  the  street  for  some  little 
time.  But  one  day  as  I  turned  into  a  new 
street,  which  had  been  cut  through  and  built 
up  recently,  I  saw  a  figure  some  distance  ahead 
of  me  all  muffled  up  and  walking  with  the  slow 
and  painful  steps  of  an  old  man. 

When  I  was  still  about  half  a  block  from 
him  his  hat  blew  off  and  was  caught  in  a  sud 
den  gust  of  wind  and  whirled  out  into  the 
street. 

He  stepped  slowly  down  after  it,  but  before 
he  could  reach  it  a  young  girl,  who  had  evi 
dently  seen  him  through  a  window,  opened 
the  door  and  ran  down  from  one  of  the  little 
new  tidy  houses  on  the  opposite  side,  tripped 
out  into  the  street  and  caught  the  truant  hat 
[71] 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

and  restored  it  to  its  owner.  And  then,  as  he 
attempted  to  wrap  his  comforter,  which  had 
become  disarranged,  more  closely  around  his 
neck,  she  reached  up  and  wrapped  it  deftly 
about  him  herself,  tucking  it  in  with  great 
care,  and,  as  he  thanked  her  warmly, — which 
I  could  see  even  at  a  distance, — she  turned, 
laughing,  and  tripped  back  across  the  street, 
her  brown  hair  blown  about  her  little  head, 
and  ran  up  the  steps  into  her  house,  giving 
me  just  a  glimpse  of  dainty  ankles,  which  re 
minded  me  of  Elizabeth  Dale  that  sunny  day 
so  long  ago. 

I  had  recognized  old  Mr.  Basham  Miles  at  a 
distance  as  his  hat  blew  off,  but  I  did  not  rec 
ognize  the  young  lady  who  had  rendered  him 
the  kindly  service.  Indeed,  I  did  not  see  her 
face.  I  was  sure,  however,  that  she  was  a  stran 
ger,  for  I  knew  every  girl  on  the  street,  by 
sight  at  least. 

I  was  so  busy  speculating  as  to  who  the 
[72] 


<••« 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

graceful  stranger  was,  and  looking  at  her  win 
dows  as  I  passed,  that  I  forgot  my  intention  to 
overtake  old  Mr.  Miles,  who  might  have  told 
me,  and  he  turned  the  corner  before  I  could 
catch  up  to  him,  and  went  down  a  cross  street, 
so  that  I  did  not  get  a  chance  to  speak  to  him. 
He  was  walking  more  rapidly  than  I  had 
thought. 

As  I  was  late,  I  thought  it  was  just  as  well, 
for  I  had  observed  that  when  I  met  him  on 
the  street  now  he  talked  more  and  more  about 
his  health ;  and  my  chief  regret  at  not  having 
caught  him  was  that  I  did  not  learn  who  the 
dainty-looking  girl  was. 

As  it  turned  out,  I  discovered  later  that  he 
did  not  know  her. 

The  next  time  I  met  him  he  referred  to  the 
episode  himself  and  asked  me  to  find  out  who 
she  was,  and  let  him  know. 

"She  reminded  me  strongly  of  some  one  I 
knew  once — of  an  old  friend  of  mine,"  he  said, 
[73] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

half  reflectively.  "  These  resemblances  are  very 
curious."  He  was  speaking  now  more  to  himself 
than  to  me. 

I  suggested  that  I  might  find  some  difficulty 
in  discovering  her. 

"Difficulty?"  he  said.  "Why,  sir,  when  I 
was  your  age  I  knew  every  pretty  girl  in 
town !"  He  looked  at  me  keenly. 

"Was  she  pretty?"  I  asked.  "I  did  not  see 
her  face." 

"Pretty!  She  was  a  beauty,  sir!  She  looked 
like  an  angel.  And  she  is  a  lady.  I  don't  know 
that  a  man  is  a  judge  of  the  beauty  of  a  person 
who  runs  after  and  catches  his  hat  for  him," 
he  added,  his  deep  eyes  lighting  faintly  with 
a  little  half-gleam  of  amusement.  "What  be 
tween  rage  and  gratitude  he  is  not  in  a  very 
judicial  temper.  But  she  seemed  to  me  a  beauty; 
and  she  resembled  one  who  was  a  beauty.  Yes, 
sir,  she  was  a  beauty."  And  he  sighed  and 
turned  away. 

[74] 


VIII 
OF    A    MAKER     OF     MUD     PIES 

ONLY  a  day  or  two  after  this  conversation 
—  I  am  not  sure  that  it  was  not  the  next 
day— I  happened  to  be  passing  along  a  little 
street  out  in  the  same  direction  with,  but  several 
blocks  beyond,  the  quarter  where  my  old  friend 
and  I  had  our  residences  on  the  border  of  re 
spectability.  The  ground  was  so  broken  there 
that  the  street  was  not  half  built  up,  and  such 
houses  as  there  were  were  of  the  poorest  class. 

As  I  passed  along  my  attention  was  attracted 
by  a  little  crowd  gathered  around  some  object 
in  the  middle  of  the  street.  They  were  shouting 
with  laughter,  and  my  curiosity  prompted  me 
to  go  up  and  look  to  see  what  amused  them. 

I  found  it  to  be  a  very  small  and  dirty  lit 
tle  boy,  who  certainly  presented  an  amusing 
enough  spectacle. 

He  was  so  little  that  it  was  wonderful  how 
[75] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

so  much  dirt  could  have  found  lodgment  on 
so  small  a  person.  His  clothes  were  good, — 
better  than  those  of  the  children  around  him, 
— but  were  covered  with  mud  from  top  to 
bottom,  as  if  he  had  been  making  mud  pies 
— which,  indeed,  he  had  been  doing — and 
had  proposed  to  bake  them  on  himself.  His 
hands  were  caked  with  mud,  and  his  round 
face  also  was  plentifully  streaked  with  it. 
Where  it  showed  through,  the  skin  looked  fair 
and  the  face  delicate  and  refined.  He  might 
have  been  a  muddy  Cupid. 

He  did  not  seem  at  all  disturbed  or  even  dis 
concerted  by  the  crowd  about  him,  or  the  amuse 
ment  he  was  causing,  or  the  questions  put  to 
him.  All  of  them  he  answered  promptly  and 
with  perfect  coolness.  The  only  difficulty  was  in 
understanding  him ;  he  was  so  small  that  he 
could  not  talk  plainly.  And,  besides,  he  was  very 
busy  with  a  most  attractive  pile  of  wet  sand. 

There  is  something  in  wet  sand  which  no 
[76] 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

man-child  can  resist.  I  wonder  if  it  is  not  a 
shred  of  our  heredity,  from  the  time  when  we 
burrowed  in  the  ground. 

"What  is  your  name?"  they  were  asking  him. 

"Urt'n  Ale  Avith,"— indifferently;  for  he 
was  much  engaged. 

"What?" 

"Urt'n  Ale  Avith;'  —  in  a  different  key, 
while  he  gave  a  swipe  across  his  face  which 
left  new  streaks. 

"What?— Urt'n  Ale  Avith?" 

"Nor!  Urt'n— Ale— Avith!"— with  some 
impatience. 

They  changed  the  question. 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

"At  'ome."  He  returned  to  his  task,  the 
boring  of  a  small  tunnel  with  one  little  black 
finger. 

"Where  is  that?" 

"At  'ome!"  —  evidently  struck  with  their 
denseness. 

[77] 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

"What  street?"  asked  some  one. 

"Witchen  Cheet." 

"Witchin  Street?" 

"Nor!  Witchen  Cheet!" 

"Where  is  that?"  the  crowd  inquired  of 
each  other.  No  one  knew. 

"What  did  you  leave  home  for,  honey?" 
asked  a  woman,  stooping  over  him  and  putting 
her  hand  on  him. 

"Wunned  away!"  he  answered  promptly, 
with  a  reawakening  of  interest,  and  a  sparkle 
in  his  blue  eyes  at  the  recollection. 

"Runned  away?" 

"Mh — hmh,"  with  a  nod  of  satisfaction,  and  a 
dimple  at  the  corner  of  his  little  muddy  mouth. 

"What  did  you  run  away  for?" 

"I  d'n  know." 

He  stood  up. 

At  this  a  child  who  had  worked  its  way  into 
the  inner  circle  about  him  gave  a  shrill  explo 
sion  of  laughter.  Little  Mudpie's  face  flushed 
[78] 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

suddenly,  and  he  walked  up,  and  doubling  his 
dirty  fist,  struck  the  child  as  hard  a  blow  as  he 
could,  which  caused  a  universal  shout,  and  set 
the  children  to  whirling  in  the  street,  scream 
ing  with  laughter. 

For  the  first  time  the  boy  showed  signs  of 
distress ;  his  little  dirty  mouth  began  to  pucker 
and  his  little  round  chin  to  tremble,  and  he  dug 
one  chubby  black  fist  in  his  eye. 

"Warn  do  'ome,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,  you  shall  go.  Don't  cry,  honey."  And 
several  women,  pressing  around  him,  began  to 
pet  him.  One  of  them  asked:  "Don't  you  want 
somethin'  to  eat?  Ain't  you  hungry?" 

"Mh — hmh — Yes,  ma'am,"  he  said,  with  a 
little  whimper  and  correction  of  his  manners. 

"All  right:  I'll  give  you  something.  Come 
along,  and  then  we  '11  take  you  home." 

On  this  several  women  with  motherly  kind 
ness  began  to  talk  as  to  which  could  give  him 
something  quickest. 

[79] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

" Which  way  is  your  home,  little  man?"  I 
asked,  taking  advantage  of  the  break  in  the 
crowd. 

He  turned  and  waved  his  little  arm,  taking 
in  half  the  horizon. 

"Dat  way." 

At  least,  it  was  the  half  of  the  horizon  to 
ward  which  I  was  going,  so  I  said  to  the 
women  that  if  they  would  give  him  something 
to  eat,  I  would  undertake  to  get  him  home 
safely.  This  division  of  labor  was  acceptable, 
and  the  woman  who  had  first  suggested  feed 
ing  him  having  given  him  two  large  slices  of 
bread  covered  thick  with  jam,  and  others  hav 
ing  contributed  double  as  much  more,  I  took 
the  little  stray's  wrist  in  default  of  a  hand, — 
both  of  those  members  being  engaged  trying  to 
hold  his  store  of  bread, — and  having  taken 
leave  of  his  friends,  we  started  out  westward  to 
find  his  home. 

We  had  not  gone  more  than  fifty  steps  when 
[  80] 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

he  said,  "I  tired,"  or  something  as  near  that 
as  a  mouth  filled  with  bread  and  jam  would 
allow. 

This  was  a  new  phase  of  the  case.  I  had  not 
counted  on  this.  But  as  there  was  no  help  for 
it,  when  he  had  repeated  the  statement  again, 
and  added  the  request,  "Pee  tote  me,"  I 
picked  him  up,  dirt  and  all,  and  marched  on. 

It  was  a  little  funny  anyhow  to  find  myself 
carrying  such  a  bundle  of  boy  and  mud,  to 
which  was  added  the  fact  that  every  now  and 
then  lumps  of  blackberry  jam  were  being 
smeared  over  my  clothes  and  face  and  stuck 
in  my  hair,  a  process  to  which  the  warmth  of 
the  day  did  not  fail  to  contribute  its  part;  but 
it  was  only  when  I  got  into  my  own  section 
of  the  town  that  I  fully  appreciated  the  hu- 
morousness  of  the  figure  I  must  cut. 

I  would  gladly  have  put  my  little  burden 
down,  but  he  would  not  be  so  disposed  of. 

Prosperity  is  the  nurse  of  Arrogance,  and 
[81  ] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

under  prosperity  my  little  man  had  grown  a 
tyrant,  and  whenever  I  proposed  putting  him 
down,  he  said  so  firmly,  "No,  no;  I  tired!  pee 
tote  me,"  that  I  was  forced  to  go  on. 

The  first  person  I  met  that  I  knew  was  old 
Mr.  Miles.  He  was  muffled  up,  but  yet  was 
walking  somewhat  more  vigorously  than  when 
I  last  saw  him  on  the  street.  He  stopped,  in 
apparent  doubt  as  to  my  identity,  and  looked 
rather  pleased  as  well  as  amused  over  my  ap 
pearance,  but  expressed  no  surprise  when  I 
made  a  half-explanation. 

The  child,  possibly  touched  by  his  pale,  thin 
face,  but  more  probably  sensible  of  his  sym 
pathy,  suddenly  held  out  his  chubby,  black 
hand  with  a  piece  of  jam-smeared  bread  in  it, 
and  said,  "Warn  tome?" 

It  manifestly  pleased  the  old  fellow,  for  he 
actually  bent  over  and  made  a  pretence  of  bit 
ing  off  a  piece. 

When  I  left  him  I  took  a  side  street. 
[82] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

I  was  going  to  a  police  station  to  learn  if 
any  notice  had  been  left  there  of  a  lost  child, 
but  as  I  passed  through  a  rather  retired  street, 
to  avoid  observation  from  people  I  might  know, 
I  heard  a  musical  voice  behind  me  exclaim : 

"Why,  Burton !  Where  on  earth  have  you 
been?" 

Something  about  the  voice  struck  me  like 
a  memory  from  the  past.  Turning,  I  stood  face 
to  face  with  Elizabeth  Dale.  Had  she  been  an 
angel  I  could  not  have  been  more  overcome. 

The  three  or  four  years  since  I  had  seen  her 
in  the  milliner's  shop  had  added  to  her  beauty; 
had  filled  out  her  slim,  girlish  figure,  and  had 
given  thoughtfulness  to  her  rosy  face  and 
made  it  gracious  as  well  as  sweet. 

She  was  too  much  engrossed  with  the  child, 
whom  I  quickly  discovered  to  be  her  nephew, 
to  notice  me  at  first,  and  I  found  myself 
abandoned  by  my  charge,  who  immediately 
deserted  me,  leaving,  however,  abundant  traces 
I  83] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

of  himself  on  my  person,  and  climbed  into  the 
outstretched  arms  of  his  pretty  aunt  without  a 
word,  and  began  to  hug  and  kiss  her  with  all 
his  might.  Nor  did  I  blame  him.  In  fact,  I 
should  have  liked  to  be  as  small  as  he,  to  have 
enjoyed  the  same  blessed  privilege. 

As  she  turned  half  away  from  me,  with  the 
boy  in  her  arms,  I  recognized  her  on  the  in 
stant  as  the  handsome  girl  who  had  picked  up 
old  Mr.  Miles' s  hat  for  him  that  day  in  the 
street. 

The  joyousness  of  her  nature  was  testified 
to  in  her  peals  of  laughter  over  her  little 
nephew's  extraordinary  appearance,  and  her 
loveliness  of  character  was  proven  both  by  th  e 
affection  with  which  the  child  choked  and 
kissed  her,  and  the  sweetness  with  which  she 
received  his  embraces,  muddy  and  jam -be 
smeared  as  he  was.  All  she  said  was:  "Oh, 
Burton!  isn't  that  enough?  You'll  ruin  aunty's 
nice  dress." 

[84] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

But  Burton  only  choked  and  kissed  her  the 
harder. 

I  offered  to  take  him  and  relieve  her,  but 
she  declined  this,  and  Mudpie  would  not  have 
come  even  if  she  would  have  let  him.  He  knew 
when  he  was  well  off.  He  just  clung  the  closer 
to  her,  patting  her  with  his  chubby  hand,  and 
rubbing  his  dirty  cheek  against  her  pretty  one 
with  delightful  enjoyment,  saying,  "I  'ove  my 
aunty,  —  I  'ove  my  aunty." 

And  as  she  smiled  and  thanked  me  \vith  her 
gracious  air  for  my  part  in  his  rescue,  I  be 
gan  to  think  that,  faith!  I  more  than  half  did 
so,  too. 

The  next  day  I  met  Elizabeth  Dale  on  the 
street,  entirely  by  accident — on  her  part.  I 
may  almost  say,  it  was  accidental  on  my  part 
also,  for  I  had  been  walking  up  and  down  and 
around  blocks  for  two  hours  before  she  added 
her  light  to  the  sunshine  without. 

She  was  gracious  enough  to  stop  and  give 
[85] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

me  a  message  of  thanks  from  her  sister,  Mrs. 
Davis,  for  my  kindness  to  her  young  prodigal, 
and  she  added  that  if  he  had  not  eaten  of  the 
husks  of  the  swine,  he  had,  at  least,  looked  as 
if  he  had  played  with  them. 

It  was  a  memorable  interview  for  me ;  for  it 
was  the  first  time  I  ever  had  what  might  be 
called  a  real  conversation  with  Elizabeth  Dale. 
I  was  guileful  and  stretched  it  out,  claiming,  I 
remember,  a  much  closer  acquaintance  with 
the  Reverend  Peterkin  Davis  than  I  had  ever 
thought  before  of  doing.  She  even  said  her  sis 
ter  had  written  and  posted  me  her  thanks,  but 
had  commissioned  her  if  she  saw  me  again,  to 
say  she  would  be  very  glad  to  have  me  call 
and  give  her  "the  privilege  of  thanking  me  in 
person";  so  she  was  pleased  to  express  it. 

After  that,  of  course,  I  felt  I  could  do  no 
less  than  call,  and  I  was  so  gracious  about  giv 
ing  her  sister  "the  privilege"  she  requested, 
that  I  called  that  very  evening;  and  as  her  sis- 
[86] 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

ter  happened  to  have  a  headache,  and  I  saw 
only  the  younger  sister,  I  called  again  only  a 
few  evenings  afterward.  For  by  this  time  Miss 
Elizabeth  Dale  and  I  were  friends,  and  I  now 
think  I  was  almost  beginning  to  be  more. 

I  became  suddenly  a  somewhat  regular  at 
tendant  on  the  Reverend  Dr.  Davis' s  church. 


[87] 


IX 

THE    CARVED     HEART 

1DID  not  see  old  Mr.  Miles,  to  tell  him  that 
I  had  discovered  his  young  benefactress,  for 
Youth  is  forgetful  in  the  sunshine  of  prosper 
ity,  and  I  did  not  call  on  him  immediately. 

One  afternoon  as  I  passed  along  his  street 
he  was  sitting  out  on  the  seat  under  the  old 
beech  tree,  all  muffled  up  in  his  overcoat;  but 
I  was  going  to  pay  a  call  on  "Witchen  Cheet," 
and  was  in  something  of  a  hurry,  so  did  not 
stop,  and  when  I  was  thinking  of  getting  ready 
to  call  on  him  some  time  afterward,  William 
Kemp  told  me  he  had  left  town  for  the  sum 
mer. 

I  did  not  think  of  him  again  for  a  long  time. 
My  thoughts  were  so  occupied;  for  I  was  not 
the  only  person  that  stayed  in  town  that  sum 
mer.  Miss  Elizabeth  Dale  was  there  also,  and 
though  she  went  off  once,  to  my  great  discon- 
[88] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

tent,  to  visit  some  relatives  in  the  country  for 
a  few  weeks,  she  was  in  the  city  most  of  the 
summer. 

It  was  astonishing  how  completely  her  ab 
sence  depopulated  the  town  and  how  equally 
her  presence  filled  it.  I  heard  other  men  speak 
of  the  r\ty  being  deserted,  but  after  she  re 
turned  I  did  not  find  it  so. 

I  do  not  think  that  I  ever  thought  of  being 
in  love  with  her  as  a  practical  matter.  I  never 
dreamed  of  the  possibility  of  her  being  in  love 
with  me.  She  was  far  too  beautiful  and  too 
popular  ever  to  think  of  a  poor  young  lawyer 
like  myself.  In  fact,  marriage  was  something 
on  which  I  might  dream,  but  I  had  never  se 
riously  contemplated  it.  I  thought  I  should 
marry  some  day,  as  I  thought  I  should  die 
some  day,  but  I  certainly  had  never  thought 
as  yet  of  marrying  Elizabeth  Dale.  My  dream 
then  was  rather  of  an  heiress  and  a  large  man 
sion,  as  it  had  formerly  been  of  a  princess  and 
[89] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

a  palace;  and  meantime  I  lived  in  the  third 
floor  of  a  small  boarding-house,  and  never 
dreamed  that  Elizabeth  Dale  would  think  of 
me  for  a  minute.  As  far  as  I  went  was  timor 
ously  to  send  her  flowers,  or  worship  her  beauty 
and  hate  furiously  every  man  who  had  the  im 
pertinence  to  look  at  her. 

'  But  Summer  is  a  dangerous  time  in  a  South 
ern  city.  The  true  life  of  the  South  comes  out 
only  in  Summer.  Then  it  flowers.  Then  the 
verandas  become  drawing-rooms,  and  recep 
tions  are  held  on  the  front  steps.  It  is  one  of 
the  reasons  why  life  in  a  Southern  city  is  easier 
than  in  a  Northern  one.  It  is  no  groundless 
superstition  that  gives  the  Moon  a  power  to 
affect  the  Mind.  The  Providence  that  tempers 
the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,  made  the  Summer 
for  the  portionless  girl.  Given  soft  white  rai 
ment  and  the  moonlight  of  a  Summer  night, 
the  Summer  girl  need  ask  no  favors  of  her 
satin-clad  winter  sister. 

[90] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

How  I  blessed  that  summer  for  the  ease 
with  which  I  met  Elizabeth  Dale !  If  I  used  to 
see  her  almost  every  evening,  stroll  with  her 
on  the  shady  streets,  row  on  the  placid  river, 
read  to  her,  think  of  her  and  plan  for  her  a 
great  deal  more  than  I  did  of  my  practice, — 
which  of  late  had  really  grown,  as  was  quite 
fortunate  for  the  little  florist  at  the  corner 
above  me,  though  it  was  still  far  below  the 
large  and  lucrative  business  which  was  to  be 
my  stepping-stone  to  the  chief-justiceship, — it 
was  only  as  of  a  beautiful  being  whose  mere 
smile  was  more  than  all  other  rewards,  and 
all  that  I  dared  aspire  to.  It  was  enough  for 
me  to  live  in  the  same  town  with  her. 

As  will  be  seen  then,  I  was  not  at  this  time 
in  love  with  Miss  Elizabeth  Dale;  I  only  ad 
mired  her,  and  hated  those  who  were. 

Almost  the  only  time  I  thought  of  old  Mr. 
Miles  that  summer  was  one  evening  when 
Elizabeth  Dale  and  I  were  strolling  through 
[91] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

the  old  street  on  which  his  house  stood.  She 
was  arrayed  in  a  simple  white  dress,  as  angels 
and  young  girls  should  be,  and  she  carried  a 
large  pink  rose,  which  I  had  selected  with  some 
care  for  her  at  my  little  florist's.  I  had  hoped 
that  she  would  wear  the  rose,  but  she  did  not; 
she  only  carried  it  in  her  hand. 

As  we  passed  slowly  along,  exchanging  the 
pleasant  trivialities  which  two  young  people 
deal  in  in  such  cases,  the  old  yard  stretching 
back  looked  cool  and  inviting  under  its  big 
trees.  The  seat  under  the  old  beech  looked 
convenient  and  sequestered,  and  an  air  of 
quietude  and  calm  seemed  to  rest  on  every 
thing.  I  suggested  going  in,  which  surprised 
her,  but  I  told  her  the  owner  was  a  friend  of 
mine,  and  was  absent  from  the  city,  and  then 
informed  her  that  he  was  the  old  gentleman 
whose  hat  she  had  picked  up  in  the  street. 

The  gate  was  tied  up,  and  I  was  about  to  cut 
the  fastening,  when  she  said  she  would  climb 
[92] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

over  it,  which  she  did,  with  my  aid,  with  the 
agility  of  a  fawn. 

She  must  have  seen  the  look  of  surprised 
admiration  on  my  tell-tale  face,  for  she  said, 
with  mounting  color  in  her  cheeks: 

"Country  training.  I  fear  I  never  shall  get 
used  to  city  ways." 

"Heaven  forbid  !"  I  said. 

We  wandered  about  for  a  while,  and  then 
came  to  a  stop  under  the  old  beech,  which 
showed  on  its  gray,  scarred  trunk  the  rough 
traces  of  many  a  schoolboy's  pride  or  lover's 
devotion.  As  we  looked  at  it,  she  gently  stuck 
my  rose  in  her  dress. 

Most  of  the  carving  on  the  trunk  was  old, 
for  few  entered  that  secluded  yard  of  late,  and 
much  was  indecipherable. 

One  pair  of  broad  initials,  high  up,  enclosed 

in  a  large  heart,  I  made  out  as  "B.  M."  and 

"E.  G."  ;  but  my  companion  did  not  entirely 

agree  with  me.  The  "B.  M."   she  thought  I 

[93] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

was  probably  correct  about,  but  as  to  the 
"E.  G."  I  was  only  possibly  so. 

"  Those  letters  would  stand  for  my  moth 
er,"  she  said  softly.  "Only  she  was  always 
Betsey." 

"Or  they  might  stand,  'For  Example/"  said 
I,  with  the  light  wit  of  a  young  man.  "Now, 
if  I  just  cut  'D.'  after  that,  and  change  the 
'B.  M./  it  would  be  all  right.  I  should  have 
followed  the  example." 

"Why,  it  would  be  like  sacrilege !"  she  said, 
her  large  eyes  resting  on  the  tracing  above  us. 
"  Whoever  they  were,  they  were,  no  doubt,  two 
lovers,  and  that  old  scar  may  be  the  only  trace 
left  of  them  on  earth." 

I  wished,  as  I  glanced  at  her,  I  could  have 
caused  the  look  in  her  eyes  as  they  rested  on 
those  relics  of  that  far-off  romance. 

I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  that  our  con 
versation  began  to  grow  a  little  too  grave  after 
that,  but  she  suddenly  decided  that  we  had 
[94] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

better  be  going  home,  and  notwithstanding  my 
protests,  she  rose  and  started. 

This  was  the  only  time  she  went  with  me 
into  the  old  yard,  though  I  often  pressed  her 
to  go  again,  and  it  was  the  only  time  I  re 
member  that  we  ever  spoke  of  old  Mr.  Miles. 

I  mentioned  to  William  Kemp  that  I  had 
visited  the  grounds,  as  he  was  in  some  sort 
their  custodian. 

"Yes,  suh,  I  see  you/'  he  said.  " Jes'  mek 
yo'self  at  home." 

This  was  all  he  said,  but  it  suddenly  made 
me  feel  as  if  William  were  my  confidant. 


[95] 


X 

SHOWING    THAT 

LOVE    IS    STILL    A    NATIVE 

OF    THE     ROCKS 

/iS  the  summer  passed  and  the  autumn 
JL  JL.  came,  I  began  to  grow  restless  and  un 
happy.  The  trees  had  lost  their  greenness,  and 
the  town  was  taking  on  its  autumn  look.  And 
my  happy  summer  evenings,  with  strolls  along 
the  moonlit  summer  streets,  or  drifting  out 
on  the  river,  were  gone  with  the  greenness 
of  the  leaves,  and  something  had  come  like 
a  frost  over  me  and  my  happiness. 

I  could  not  tell  just  what  it  was,  unless  it 
were  the  frequent  visits  to  town  of  a  young 
man,  named  Goodrich,  who  lived  in  another 
State  and  a  larger  city. 

I  had  met  Mr.  Goodrich  once  or  twice  in 
the  early  summer,  and  had  thought  nothing 
of  him:  not  as  much  as  I  thought  of  several 
[96] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

others  who  used  to  sit  on  Mrs.  Davis's  front 
porch  on  "Witchin  Cheet"  and  interfere  with 
my  enjoyment  there ;  but  now  he  was  back  in 
the  city,  staying  at  one  of  the  biggest  hotels, 
and  spending  most  of  his  time — all  of  it,  I  de 
clared — at  Mrs.  Davis's. 

I  never  knew  before  what  Diogenes  felt  when 
Alexander  came  between  him  and  the  sun. 

I  met  this  Alexander  every  time  I  went 
there,  and  though  I  do  not  think  I  would  ever 
have  been  base  enough  to  murder  him,  I  would 
cheerfully  have  seized  and  dropped  him  into 
some  far-off  dungeon  to  pass  the  rest  of  his 
natural  life  in  painful  and  unremitted  solitude. 

My  hostility  to  him  was  not  at  all  tempered 
by  the  fact  that  he  was  very  good-looking,  had 
good  manners,  and  was  reported  to  be  exceed 
ingly  rich;  nor  even  by  the  further  fact  that 
Miss  Dale  was  going  off  somewhere  to  teach 
that  year,  her  scholastic  term  beginning  a 
month  or  two  later  than  usual,  on  account  of 
[97] 


THE      OLD     GENTLEMAN 

the  absence  in  Europe  of  the  lady  who  had 
engaged  her. 

I  gave  myself  so  many  airs  about  Mr.  Good- 
rich's  " continued  business"  (for  such  was  the 
cause  assigned  for  his  protracted  stay  among 
us),  and  made  myself  so  generally  disagreeable, 
—a  faculty  which  I  possess  in  a  high  degree 
of  development  on  occasion, — that  finally  Miss 
Dale,  on  some  exceptional  outbreak,  gave  me 
clearly  to  understand  that  she  would  put  up 
with  no  more  of  my  arrogance,  and  sent  me 
about  my  business. 

The  exact  cause  of  our  rupture  was  as  fol 
lows: 

I  had  for  some  time,  whenever  I  called  on 
Miss  Dale,  either  found  Mr.  Goodrich  settled 
comfortably  in  the  little  veranda — "Planted 
like  a  tree!"  I  termed  it, — or  soon  after  I  had 
taken  my  post,  he  appeared  with  the  regularity 
of  a  sidereal  body.' 

I  would  not  have  admitted  that  I  was  jeal- 
[98] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

ous  of  him  to  save  his  life,  and  in  my  present 
frame  of  mind,  hardly  to  save  my  own.  But 
jealous!  I  was  jealous  of  the  wind  for  toying 
with  her  hair  and  of  the  sun  for  bathing  her  in 
its  light. 

Naturally,  as  I  know  now, — perversely,  as  I 
thought  then,  certain  members  of  Miss  Dale's 
family  threw  no  obstacles  in  Mr.  Goodrich's 
way.  I  asserted  that  they  brazenly  pursued 
him,  and  I  always  sat  lance-in-rest  for  them,  a 
course  which  came  near  being  my  undoing. 

Heaven,  however,  after  some  chastening, 
was  good  to  me. 

My  rival,  like  most  young  men,  was  full  of 
himself.  He  had  travelled,  and  he  loved  to  talk 
of  his  experiences  and  was  not  unappreciative 
of  his  possessions.  He  would  spend  lavishly 
on  some  personal  gratification  and  then  skimp 
over  some  little  thing  which  instinct  should 
have  made  him  do  generously.  I  saw  the  joints 
in  his  harness  and  aimed  my  shafts  dexterously. 
[99] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

I  viewed  with  inward  rage  his  deliberate  in 
vestment  of  what  I  now  deemed  my  especial 
prize ;  but  I  treated  him  outwardly  with  ma 
lignant  courtesy. 

I  avow  this  deceitfulness  now,  because  I 
found  him  afterwards  a  good  fellow. 

It  was  only  occasionally  that  I  treated  my 
self  to  the  luxury  of  a  direct  thrust. 

One  evening,  one  of  the  members  of  Miss 
Dale's  household,  who  I  thought  espoused  my 
rival's  side  too  warmly,  and  was  too  much 
given  to  talking  of  him  in  Miss  Dale's  pres 
ence,  was  telling  of  his  experience  with  Lon 
don  tailors.  Mr.  Goodrich  had,  according  to 
this  faithful  historian,  had  some  clothes  made 
in  London,  during  "his  last  visit  there,"  which 
had  fitted  him  perfectly  there ;  but  on  his  ar 
rival  here,  strange  to  relate,  he  had  unaccount 
ably  found  them  too  small  for  him.  The  lady 
could  not  account  for  it.  I,  whose  excursions 
had  hardly  been  ever  more  than  "from  the 

[  100] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

blue  bed  to  the  brown/'  using  another's  wit, 
hazarded  the  conjecture  that  possibly  Mr. 
Goodrich  was  not  as  big  a  man  in  London  as 
he  appeared  to  be  here. 

This,  after  a  moment,  served  to  change  the 
subject. 

I  was  not,  however,  always  as  happy  as  this. 

In  Love,  as  in  Diplomacy,  a  blunder  is  some 
times  worse  than  a  crime.  I  had  committed  the 
grave  blunder  of  falling  too  deeply  in  love  to 
act  with  judgment.  Like  "the  shepherd  in 
Virgil,"  I  had  "become  acquainted  with  Love 
and  found  him  a  Native  of  the  Rocks." 

I  was,  in  fact,  much  more  deeply  sunk  in 
that  tenacious  soil  than  I  was  aware  of ;  and  all 
the  while  that  I  fancied  I  was  angling  for  my 
young  lady,  she  had  me  securely  hooked  on 
her  silken  line,  and  having  wit  enough  to 
know  it,  amused  herself  with  me  to  her  heart's 
content. 

A  woman's  heart  is  a  strange  anatomy. 
[101    ] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

"  He  little  kens,  I  ween,  a  woman's  breast, 
Who  thinks  that  wanton  thing  is  won  by  sighs.1' 

So  wrote  one  who  knew  something  of  the 
subject. 

We  learn,  however,  only  from  experience, 
and  though  I  knew  Byron,  I  did  not  know  my 
young  lady's  heart  until  I  had  had  experience 
of  it.  So  seeing  how  tender  it  was  towards  all 
animate  things,  I  vainly  fancied  it  would  be 
tender  towards  one  who  would  have  put  his 
heart  under  her  feet.  But  I  found  it  adamant. 
And  until  the  magic  spell  was  called  that  could 
open  it,  it  remained  fast  shut  with  all  its  hid 
treasures.  She  walked  serenely  through  all  my 
worship,  and  I  devoured  my  heart  in  secret, 
and  cursed  the  one  I  deemed  the  cause  of  my 
misery. 

For  any  sign  she  gave,  she  might  never  have 
had  an  idea  that  I  cared  for  her,  more  than  for 
the  Statue  of  Liberty  which  adorned  the  arms 
of  the  State. 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

Having  no  means  to  outshine  my  rival  in 
any  material  way,  I  determined  to  eclipse  him 
by  display  of  my  intellect. 

I  had  at  times  written  to  my  young  lady 
what  I  was  pleased  to  call  "poems."  I  now 
polished  up  one  of  these  and  sent  it  to  her. 
But  as  I  wished  to  derive  the  full  benefit  that 
surprise  would  bring  when  she  should  discover 
the  identity  of  her  poet,  and  also,  perhaps,  a 
little  because  I  was  a  trifle  shy,  as  all  true 
lovers  are,  I  wrote  the  copy  of  verses  in  a  dis 
guised  hand  and  sent  them  to  her  anony 
mously  They  were  as  follows : 

LINES  TO  CLAUDIA: 
U  is  not,  Claudia,  that  thine  eyes 

Are  sweeter  unto  met 
Than  is  the  light  of  Summer  skies 

To  captives  just  set  free. 

It  is  not  that  the  setting  sun 
Is  tangled  in  thy  hair, 
[  103  ] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

And  recks  not  of  the  course  to  run, 
In  such  a  silken  snare. 

Nor  for  the  music  of  thy  words. 

Fair  Claudia,  love  I  thee, 
Though  sweeter  than  the  songs  of  birds 

That  melody  to  me. 

It  is  not  that  rich  roses  rare 

Within  thy  garden  grow. 
Nor  that  the  fairest  lilies  are 

Less  snowy  than  thy  brow. 

Nay,  Claudia,  't  Is  that  every  grace 

In  thy  dear  self  IJind  ; 
That  Heaven  itself  is  in  thy  face, 

And  also  in  thy  mind. 

When  I  called  on  her  next  evening  I  fully 
expected  her  to  make  some  allusion  to  my 
poem  which  would  lead  me  after  a  little  to 
avow  my  authorship.  She  did  nothing  of  the 
kind.  At  length  I  deftly  introduced  the  sub- 
[  104  ] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

ject  of  poetry;  but  not  even  then  did  she  be 
tray  the  least  idea  that  I  had  sent  her  a  poem. 
I  was  in  some  doubt  whether  she  had  re 
ceived  it ;  until  she  asked  me  suddenly,  why  I 
supposed  men  sent  things  anonymously. 

I  said  I  supposed  they  did  it  because  they 
wanted  the  person  to  whom  they  sent  them  to 
have  them  and  it  was  pleasure  enough  to  know 
that  they  had  received  them. 

On  this  she  asked  me  if  I  knew  Mr.  Good- 
rich's  handwriting. 

I  said  I  did  not ;  but  I  thought  she  ought  to 
know  it. 

She  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  with  her 
eyes  far  away  on  the  horizon,  said  she  would 
have  thought  so  too ;  but  what  she  referred  to 
was  in  a  disguised  hand  and  so  she  could  not 
be  sure. 

"What  is  it?"  Tasked. 

"Oh  !  just  a  copy  of  verses ;  and  very  pretty 
verses  they  are." 

t   105  ] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

I  said,  "I  did  not  know  he  was  a  poet.  But 
perhaps  he  was  inspired  ?" 

"Oh !  no ;"  she  laughed,  "I  would  not  go  so 
far  as  that,  though  they  remind  me  a  little  of 
a  poem  of  Sir  Charles  Sedley's : 

'  Not  Celia  that  I  juster  am, 
Or  better  than  the  rest—' 

"You  remember  that  poem?" 

I  said  I  remembered  it. 

And  this  was  all  the  thanks  I  received  for  a 
poem  into  which  I  had  poured  my  melted 
heart. 

Yet  she  possessed  one  gift  which  I  can  call 
little  less  than  a  sixth  sense.  She  divined  with 
fatal  instinct  the  exact  moment  at  which  to 
vouchsafe  me  a  kindly  word,  a  sympathetic 
glance,  a  sunny  flash.  And  Minerva  never 
dealt  her  grains  of  balm  with  more  divine 
precision. 

A  thousand  times  I  swore  to  myself  that 
[106] 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

summer  that  I  'd  put  up  with  no  more  of  her 
caprice,  and  on  each  occasion,  just  when  I  pre 
pared  to  put  my  resolution  in  force,  she  shat 
tered  it  with  a  single  shaft. 

I  told  her  once  that  had  she  lived  in  past 
times,  she  must  have  been  burnt  as  a  witch, 
unless  haply  I  had  been  there  to  rescue  her. 
Whereat  she  laughed  in  that  musical  way  she 
had,  which  a  sidelong  flash  of  her  eye  always 
sent  home.  And  after  pretending  that  I  had 
paid  her  a  very  left-handed  compliment,  till 
I  was  almost  pushed  to  make  it  broader,  she 
said: 

"Even  had  I  been  a  witch,  sir,  you  would 
never  have  rescued  me.  You  would  have  be 
gun  to  bluster  at  the  door  and  offer  to  fight 
all  comers,  and  so  would  have  been  over 
whelmed  at  once  and  never  even  have  known 
my  true  friends  who  might  have  planned  my 
rescue." 

I  knew  she  meant  Goodrich,  and  I  was  all 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

in  a  heat  at  once,  and,  no  doubt,  glowered.  I 
know  I  sniffed,  though  I  did  not  know  it  until 
I  saw  the  twinkle  of  delight  in  her  eye. 

Wild  tribes  give  victims  to  their  squaws  to 
torture.  Civilization,  after  all,  has  not  made  such 
vast  strides !  It  is  the  method  rather  than  the 
motive  that  has  changed.  Human  Nature  does 
not  change  much.  My  witch  practised  upon  one 
of  her  victims  with  exquisite  ingenuity,  though 
Truth  compels  me  to  say  he  was  a  fair  mark. 

I  fancied  about  this  time  that  my  favored 
rival  was  engaged  successfully  in  planning  the 
witch's  rescue,  and  I  was  in  what  might  be 
termed  "a  state  of  mind."  He  was  always  on 
hand. 

I  began  to  give  myself  airs,  which  no  doubt 
were  mighty  amusing  to  my  young  lady  till 
they  touched  her  nearly. 

At  length,  I  became  quite  intolerable. 

Having  failed  all  through  the  Harvest  Moon 
— that  amber  moon  which  makes  more  harvests 
[  108  ] 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

than  those  gleaned  in  the  fields  of  corn — to 
secure  even  a  moment  of  her  undivided  com 
pany,  I  grew  at  first  morose,  then  actually  sav 
age,  and  on  the  first  opportunity  I  had,  took 
my  lady  to  task :  brought  her  to  book. 

It  was  a  moonlit  night — just  such  a  night  as 
that  must  have  been  in  which  young  Lorenzo 
and  pretty  Jessica,  in  the  Belmont  glades,  tried 
to  "outnight"  each  other  with  all  the  classic 
tales  of  lovers'  histories  they  could  recall,  from 
Troilus  down,  making  the  final  poem  on  moon 
light  for  all  time. 

The  moon  as  on  that  night  shone  bright. 

"...   The  sweet  wind  did  gently  kiss  the  trees 
And  they  did  make  no  noise" 

And  as  I  walked  beneath  the  moon-bathed, 
wind-kissed  trees  toward  the  spot  where  my 
Jessica  waited,  my  soul  was  filled  with  love  for 
her,  and  I  vowed,  if  Heaven  vouchsafed  me  the 
chance,  that  very  night  to  swear  I  loved  her 
[  109] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

well  and  steal  her  soul  with  many  vows  of  faith, 
and  every  one  a  true  one. 

When  I  arrived,  the  coast  was  clear,  and  possi 
bly  there  was  hope  that  it  might  remain  so.  The 
other  members  of  the  family  were  not  at  home, 
and  my  hated  rival  for  that  night,  at  least,  was 
out  of  the  way,  for  he  had  been  riding  with  Miss 
Jessica  Dale  that  evening  and  had  gone  off. 

Jessica,  in  a  white  muslin,  looked  divine. 
As  she  took  her  seat  at  the  darkened  end  of 
the  balcony  she  mentioned  casually,  in  reply 
to  some  observation  of  mine  at  my  unwonted 
good  fortune,  that  Mr.  Goodrich  had  left  im 
mediately  after  tea :  "He  has  some  very  impor 
tant  business." 

Her  air  was  that  of  possession. 

It  was  this  air  that  inflamed  me. 

"His  business  is  doubtless  very  important?" 

"Yes?" 

She  was  so  quiet  that  I  took  her  silence  for 
confusion  and  grew  more  bold.  Even  then,  had 
[110] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

Prudence  but  tipped  Reason  a  wink,  I  might 
have  been  saved;  but  finding  the  way  so  easy, 
my  Boldness  became  Insolence,  and  I  forgot 
myself  and  overstepped  all  bounds. 

I  suddenly  found  that  I  had  committed  the 
fatal  blunder  of  attacking  my  rival.  I  had 
driven  her  to  defend  him. 

This  was  bad  enough !  But  I  made  it  worse. 
'T  is  said  that  against  Stupidity  the  gods  them 
selves  are  powerless.  I  demanded  to  know  why 
Mr.  Goodrich  was  always  there. 

"Mr.  Goodrich  has  business  here,"  she  said 
again,  with  a  little  lift  of  her  head  which  I 
might  well  have  heeded. 

"Important  business!  and  he  seems  very 
successful  in  it." 

"Yes— I  hope  so." 

"Doubtless!" 

A  pause  followed  this,  during  which  I  gath 
ered  steam.  She  sat  in  silence  in  the  dusk. 
I  took  it  for  conviction. 

[ml 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

I  determined  to  fire  one  more  shot  to  make 
sure  of  victory  and  then  I  would  be  magnanimous. 

"It  is  not  only  the  Poor,  but  the  Rich  we 
seem  to  have  always  with  us." 

She  rose  without  a  word  and  walked  slowly 
into  the  house. 

Had  she  moved  rapidly  I  might  have  hoped. 
I  knew,  however,  as  she  passed  in  at  the  win 
dow  that  my  hopes  were  dead,  slain  by  my 
own  folly. 

I  was  ready  to  follow  and  seize  her  and  offer 
amends,  my  life,  my  contritions — everything. 
But  she  gave  me  no  time.  She  did  not  pause. 
She  passed  through  the  room  and  out  of  the 
door,  and  the  next  moment  I  saw  her  climbing 
the  stair  slowly,  but  with  the  graduated  mo 
tion  of  a  piece  of  machinery. 

I  sat  for  a  moment  and  pondered,  and  then, 
with  a  revulsion  at  the  empty  chair  and  empty 
room  behind  me,  rose  and  walked  out  of  the 
gate  and  down  the  street. 
[112] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

The  sounds  of  jollity  and  of  happy  family 
life  came  to  me  from  moon-bathed  yards  and 
shadowed  verandas.  Children  flitted  about, 
chasing  each  other  with  subdued  laughter  and 
with  little  cries  of  ecstasy;  young  couples 
strolled  by  under  the  maples,  their  voices  low 
ered  to  soft  murmurings. 

"How  silver-sweet  sound  lovers  tongues  by  night." 

I  alone  was  in  darkness;  I  only  was  alone. 

The  world  was  happy,  but  for  folly  I  was 
banished — banished  by  my  own  folly!  For  me 
there  was  "no  wrorld  without  Verona-walls." 

As  I  passed  by  old  Mr.  Miles's  house,  the 
yard  with  its  great  trees  lay  bathed  in  the 
moonlight ;  but  it  was  empty  and  silent.  A  dim 
light  in  one  of  the  up-stairs  windows  alone 
showed  that  the  house  was  the  habitation  of 
life.  But  it  appeared  only  to  emphasize  the 
loneliness. 

I  wandered  about  the  streets  until  the  life 
[113] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

all  withdrew  and  vanished  within  doors,  and 
only  I  was  left.  I  even  went  back  and  trav 
ersed  the  street  on  which  stood  the  little 
house  where  I  had  been  so  happy  a  few  hours 
before.  As  I  looked  at  it  from  the  opposite 
side,  it  was  dark  and  silent  like  all  the  rest. 
The  chairs  we  had  occupied  were  still  on  the 
balcony,  but  they  were  empty  effigies  of  life. 

It  was  a  strange  feeling,  as  I  thought  how 
for  blocks  and  blocks,  covering  miles,  in  those 
sealed  brick  boxes  lay  hushed  and  unconscious 
as  in  their  tombs  all  the  thousands  who  but 
a  few  hours  before  made  the  teeming  city 
alive.  I  only  was  awake, — unless  it  were  some 
night-prowler  threading  his  way  like  a  fox 
through  tombs;  some  watchman  keeping  vigil 
like  a  watcher  by  the  dead;  some  sick  person 
tossing  on  a  bed  of  languor.  It  suddenly  made 
me  feel  closer  to  the  ill  and  desolate  than  ever 
before.  I  seemed  like  a  lonely  sentinel  on  a  soli 
tary  outpost  guarding  the  slumbers  of  the  world. 
[114] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

The  moon  began  to  redden  as  it  sank  lower 
in  the  sky,  and  it  disappeared  in  a  long  bank 
of  cloud  before  it  set.  The  morning  broke  rainy 
and  dismal. 

With  the  daylight,  however,  my  spirit  re 
turned,  and  after  breakfast  I  began  to  think 
there  might  be  hope.  I  decided  that  I  had 
been  treated  badly  and  she  must  apologize.  I 
waited  all  day  for  a  note.  But  none  came.  Every 
step  on  my  stair  set  my  heart  to  beating.  But 
there  were  no  notes. 

About  noon  I  decided  that  I  would  go  a 
little  further.  I  would  give  her  an  opportunity 
to  apologize.  So  I  was  weak  enough  to  go 
around  to  that  part  of  the  town,  as  if  casually, 
on  the  chance  of  seeing  her.  I  did  see  her,  at 
a  distance.  She  was  driving  with  Goodrich ! 
This  gave  me  a  revulsion.  She  was  a  heartless 
creature ! 

I  went  back  to  my  office  and  to  gloom. 

Next  day  the  light  again  inspirited  me.  I 
[115] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

would  meet  her  halfway.  So  after  writing  a 
dozen  notes,  conveying  every  shade  of  disap 
probation,  and  consigning  them  to  the  waste- 
basket,  I  started  out  to  play  my  new  game. 

I  had,  however,  counted  without  my  cost. 
Miss  Elizabeth  Dale  was  not  to  be  thus  toyed 
with.  I  had  struck  too  deep,  and  the  arrow 
rankled.  My  first  overture  met  a  rebuff  so  seri 
ous  that  I  was  completely  floored.  When  I 
called  she  was  excused. 

I  freely  confess  that  even  after  this  I  would 
have  been  mean  enough  to  tumble  down  in 
the  dirt  and  eat  ever  so  much  humble  pie,  if  I 
had  thought  it  would  have  done  any  good.  The 
young  lady,  however,  was  so  inexorable  in  her 
indignation  that  I  found  not  the  slightest 
ground  for  hope  that  she  would  relent  and 
accept  my  apologies,  though  I  sought  one 
with  the  diligence  of  Esau.  I  was,  accord 
ingly,  forced  to  assume  the  "High  horse"  as 
my  sole  salvation ;  which  I  did  with  what  out- 
[116] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

ward  grace  I  might,  though  I  was  inwardly 
consumed  between  consternation,  regret,  and 
rage,  and  cursed  Mr.  Goodrich  heartily. 

The  "High  horse"  is  sometimes,  perhaps,  a 
successful  steed,  but  it  is  mighty  poor  riding ; 
and  I  spent  an  autumn  as  wretched  as  my 
summer  had  been  delightful,  passing  my  time 
meditating  insults  to  my  successful  rival  and 
punishment  for  my  young  lady.  It  was  a  sad 
autumn. 

Sorrow  is  somehow  related  to  Religion,  and  in 
my  gloom  I  began  to  think  of  becoming  good. 

Providence  helped  me  once. 

I  heard  one  evening  of  a  poor  woman  who, 
with  a  house  full  of  little  children,  had  been 
left  destitute  by  the  death  of  her  husband  in  a 
railroad  accident.  He  had  been  an  engineer, 
and  had  run  into  a  "washout,"  one  night  after 
a  heavy  rain.  He  had  seen  the  danger  ahead, 
and  had  had  time  to  jump,  his  fireman,  who  es 
caped,  reported;  but  after  reversing  his  lever 
•  [117] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

and  applying  the  breaks,  he  had  stuck  to  his 
engine,  "to  put  sand  on/'  and  had  gone  down 
under  it.  The  only  "sand"  in  that  engine  was 
not  in  the  box. 

Hall  came  from  my  county,  and  that  was  al 
ways  a  tie  with  me.  So,  though  I  was  not  much 
in  the  way  of  charity  work,  and  though  the 
weather  was  what  Basham  Miles  would  have 
called  "inclement,"  I  went  down  to  see  if  the 
woman  was  in  as  great  need  as  I  had  heard 
she  was  in. 

I  had  some  difficulty  in  finding  the  little 
frame  house  in  the  street  which  was  full  of 
such  houses,  all  as  much  alike  as  those  which 
the  maid  had  to  pick  between  in  Ali  Baba's 
history. 

It  was,  by  the  way,  the  same  street  in  which 
I  had  found  my  little  mudpie-maker  making 
his  pies  that  day  so  long  ago. 

At  length,  however,  a  poor  woman,  whose 
face  instantly  grew  sympathetic  when  I  men- 
[118] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

tioned  the  name  of  the  widow,  pointed  me  to 
the  house.  I  found  the  family  not  destitute, 
indeed,  of  food,  for  Hall  had  been  "a  saving 
man,"  but  yet  in  a  sad  plight,  as  might  have 
been  expected.  I  recognized  the  widow  at  the 
first  glance  as  the  woman  who  had  fed  the 
mudpie-maker  with  bread  and  jam  that  sum 
mer  day:  though  grief  had  sorely  changed  her 
appearance. 

Every  one  was  kind,  she  said.  At  the  men 
tion  of  my  name  her  countenance  lightened, 
and  she  said  she  had  heard  of  me,  and  had 
meant  to  write  to  me,  as  a  lady  had  told  her 
to  place  her  case  in  my  hands,  and  maybe  I 
could  get  some  money  for  her  from  the  Com 
pany. 

I  told  her  I  would  look  into  the  matter;  but, 
regretfully,  I  had  to  inform  her  that  she  had 
no  case  in  law  against  the  railroad. 

I  went  again,  however,  and  was  enabled  to 
take  her  a  small  fund  which  two  or  three  sym- 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

pathetic  friends,  moved  by  the  story  of  her  sor 
row,  had  contributed.  When  I  knocked,  the 
door  was  opened  by  Elizabeth  Dale. 

I  should  not  have  been  more  surprised  had 
I  walked  into  a  new  sphere.  But  the  ways  of 
women  are  wonderful.  She  was  as  calm  and 
self-possessed  as  though  she  had  proof  that  my 
post  was  always  on  Mrs.  Hall's  front  door  step. 
She  shook  hands  with  me  as  naturally  as  if  she 
had  expected  to  meet  me  there,  and  we  had 
parted  only  the  evening  instead  of  the  autumn 
before. 

"How  do  you  do?"  Then  looking  back  into 
the  dim  little  room  behind  her : 

"  Mrs.  Hall,  here  is  a  gentleman  to  see  you. 
Can  he  come  in?" 

I  heard  an  affirmative  answer,  and  she 
stepped  aside. 

"Won't  you  walk  in  ?" 

As  I  entered  she  said,  "I  am  glad  Mrs.  Hall 
has  so  good  a  friend."  And  before  I  could 
[  120] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

reply,  she  had  passed  out  of  the  door  and 
closed  it  behind  her. 

I  felt  suddenly  as  if  I  were  shut  up  in  a 
cave.  My  visit  was  a  hurried  one.  When  I 
opened  the  door  a  minute  later  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  at  the  top  of  the  street,  and 
just  as  I  looked,  she  disappeared.  She  was 
walking  rapidly. 

Mrs.  Hall's  praises  of  her  cost  me  all  the 
money  I  had  in  my  pocket,  and  a  night's  sleep 
in  the  bargain. 

It  was  she  who  had  recommended  me  as  a 
lawyer. 

Though  after  that  I  obeyed  the  Scriptural 
injunction  and  visited  the  widow  and  the 
fatherless  more  than  once,  and  though  Miss 
Dale  visited  them  frequently,  as  I  heard  from 
her  charges,  yet  I  never  met  her  there  again. 

Truly  the  ways  of  a  woman  are  past  finding 
out. 

[121] 


XI 

A    WARNING    AND    AN 
EXAMPLE 

"QWEET  are  the  uses  of  Adversity,"  no 

^.s  doubt.  But  for  all  that,  it  does  not  com 
mend  itself  to  a  young  man,  if  Adversity  hap 
pen  to  take  the  form  of  a  particularly  pretty 
girl's  refusal  to  see  him  when  he  happens  to 
think  her  the  one  girl  in  all  the  world  for  him. 

I  was  enabled  to  make  this  observation  from 
experience. 

I  tried  "Adversity's  sweet  milk,  Philoso 
phy";  but  to  no  purpose.  I  found  it  crabbed 
and  hard,  as  ever  the  roughest  pagan  found  it. 

I  summoned  Reason  to  my  aid,  and  plainly 
proved  how  foolish  my  view  was.  Women 
could  not  be  so  unlike  each  other,  I  argued. 
I  pointed  out  the  folly  of  ruining  my  happiness 
and  my  life  because,  forsooth,  one  woman  of 
all  the  countless  myriads  in  the  world  refused 
[  122] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

to  be  my  mate, — a  girl  whom  only  two  or 
three,  or,  at  most,  a  half-dozen  men  thought 
in  any  way  superior  to  the  rest,  and  in  whom 
all  the  others  saw  no  more  than  in  any  fair 
face,  soft  voice,  gentle  air,  and  kindly  ways. 
The  chances  were — I  clearly  showed — that  I 
was  wrong,  the  rest  of  Mankind  right. 

All  to  no  purpose.  My  coolest  summing  up 
of  judgment  went  down  like  straw  before  my 
heart's  advocacy  in  the  simple  reply,  "I  love 
her." 

I  was  bewitched.  I  knew  it,  and  yet  I  could 
not  stir. 

Although  at  times  I  raged  against  myself 
like  a  poor  beast  tangled  in  a  net,  I  knew  I 
was  hopelessly  caught,  and  for  the  most  part 
submitted  dumbly. 

Unfortunately  for  me  there  was  no  war  then 

in  progress,  or  I   should  probably  have  gone 

and  left  the  obdurate  creature  to  repine   for 

having  missed  the  imperishable  laurels  I  should 

[  123] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

gain,  and  mourn  too  late  the  fatal  madness  of 
driving  such  a  Paladin  of  courage  to  despair. 

I  thought  of  going  West,  and  reaping  there 
the  large  rewards  of  my  abilities ;  but  I  doubted 
whether  civic  spoils  would  touch  her,  and  I 
hesitated  to  take  a  step  which  would  proclaim 
my  defeat. 

I  knew  enough  of  war  to  know  that  after  a 
battle  he  that  sleeps  on  the  field  is  held  the 
victor,  though  he  may  have  suffered  most. 

So,  though  stricken  sorely,  I  held  the  field, 
and  faced  the  world. 

Adversity  winnows  one's  friends  like  a  sieve. 
I  first  lost  happiness,  then  appetite,  then  sleep. 
They  follow  each  other  like  the  numerals,  1,  2, 
3.  I,  who  had  never  known  what  it  was  to  be 
conscious  of  an  hour  between  the  time  I  went 
to  bed  and  that  when  my  alarm  clock  awoke 
me,  any  more  than  if  I  had  crossed  the  bed 
from  night  to  day,  now  thrashed  around  for 
hours  and  vainly  waited  with  stout  resolution 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

and  firmly  closed  eyes  the  coming  of  Sleep.  I 
never  knew  before  how  stealthy  is  Sleep,  or 
how  coy.  My  friends  began  to  remark  to  me 
on  my  changed  appearance;  at  least,  those 
whom  I  might  term  my  second-best  friends 
did  so,  to  my  annoyance.  My  closest  friends 
only  looked  anxious  and  tried  in  secret,  easily 
discoverable  ways  to  divert  me. 

Some  of  them  went  so  far  as  to  try  to  find 
another  girl  for  me.  But  "surely  in  vain  the 
net  is  spread  in  the  sight  of  any  bird."  I  could 
not  be  caught  even  with  so  fair  a  bait  as  they 
proposed.  "Thisbe"  was  "a  gray  eye  or  so;  but 
not  to  the  purpose."  I  felt  that  my  case  was 
different  from  all  the  others  in  their  lexicon  of 
experience.  Like  the  man  in  the  grammar,  I 
would  be  destroyed,  no  one  should  help  me. 

Time,  however,  is  the  great  helper.  He 
works  with  a  secrecy  that  steals  through  our 
alertest  watch  and  overcomes  our  stoutest  de 
fences.  He  gives  the  buried  seed  help  to  burst 
[125] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

its  shell  and  make  its  way  up  to  the  light.  He 
lends  his  aid  to  soothe  the  sorest  hurt.  And, 
as  he  helps  to  knit  the  lacerated  flesh,  so  he 
helps  to  heal  the  deeper  wounds  of  the  spirit. 

In  time  my  pride  awoke,  and  did  what  my 
friends  had  not  been  able  to  effect.  Then  acci 
dent  helped  me  even  against  my  will. 

Among  my  friends  was  one  in  whose  society 
I  had  always  found  a  great  deal  of  pleasure. 
She  was  no  more  like  Elizabeth  Dale  with  her 
extremes  of  cruelty  and  sympathy,  her  pitfalls 
of  sauciness,  her  unexpectednesses,  her  infinite 
variety  and  unvarying  charm,  than  I  was  like 
St.  Francis  of  Assisi.  But  she  was  clever,  intel 
ligent,  and  high-minded.  And  she  was  very  sym 
pathetic  with  me.  I  saw  a  great  deal  of  her, 
and  was  aware  that  my  friends  were  associating 
our  names. 

As  Miss  Elizabeth  Dale  was  now  off  teach 
ing,  I  had  no  fear  of  her  hearing  too  much  of 
my  consolement. 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

Winter  had  now  come  to  the  rest  of  the 
world,  as  well  as  to  my  heart,  and  Winter  al 
ways  gives  courage.  Christmas  was  approach 
ing.  A  freeze  gave  us  the  coveted  opportunity 
to  skate,  and  I  took  my  friend  skating.  As  we 
were  returning  across  the  fields  and  reached  a 
fence  on  the  roadside,  she  complained  that  one 
of  her  hands  was  quite  numbed  by  the  cold, 
and  I  undertook  to  warm  it  by  rubbing  it, 
though  it  was  cold  work.  I  was  engaged  in  the 
dismal  task  when  she  gave  a  little  exclamation 
and  quietly  drew  her  hand  away.  I  glanced  up 
just  in  time  to  see  Elizabeth  Dale  look  away 
as  she  came  down  the  hill.  The  next  second 
she  turned  her  eyes  our  way  and  gave  us  a 
smiling  greeting.  She  had  just  come  home  for 
the  holidays.  My  friend  laughed  at  my  discom 
fiture.  It  was  just  my  luck. 

In  my  time  of  tribulation  I  began  to  think 
of  many  persons  and  things  that  I  had  rather 
forgotten  in  the  times  of  my  prosperity,  and 
[  187  ]  ' 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

among  them  was  old  Mr.  Basham  Miles.  I  had 
not  seen  him  on  the  street  during  the  whole 
fall,  as  I  generally  did  at  that  season  of  the 
year,  and  one  day  I  asked  William  about  him. 
He  told  me  that  he  was  at  home  ill ;  he  had 
come  back  from  the  country  sick,  and  had  been 
confined  to  his  room  ever  since. 

"Fact  is,  suh,  I's  mighty  troubled  'bout 
him,"  said  the  old  servant.  "He  ain't  gittin' 
no  better :  jes  gittin'  punier  an'  punier.  I  don' 
b'lieve  he  's  gwine  to  last  much  longer." 

This  was  serious,  and  I  questioned  him  as  to 
what  the  old  gentleman  did. 

"He  don'  do  nuttin*  sep'  set  dyah  all  day 
in  de  big  cheer,"  he  said.  "He  use'  to  read — 
read  all  de  time,  night  an'  day,  but  he  don' 
eben  do  dat  no  longer ! " 

"Who  is  with  him  ?" 

"D'  ain'  no-body  wid  him,  suh.  He  won* 
have  no-body.  He  never  wuz  no  han'  for 
havin'  folks  'bout  him  pesterin'  him,  no-how, 
[  128  ] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

— strange  folks  expressly;  he  would  n'  even 
have  a  doctor  to  come  to  see  him,  after  old 
Dr.  Thomas  die.  He  used  to  come  sometimes. 
Since  den  he  would n'  have  no-body;  but  me 
and  Jane  got  him  to  le*  me  go  and  ax  Dr.  Will 
iams  to  come  an'  see  him,  an*  he  say  he  pretty 
sick,  an'  gi'  him  some  physic.  But  he  would  n' 
teck  it,  suh !  He  say  he  gwine  die  anyhow,  an' 
he  ain't  gwine  take  no  nasty  physic.  He  got 
de  bottle  dyah  now  in  he  room,  an'  it  jes  full 
as  'twas  when  I  bring  it  from  de  drug-sto*  1" 

I  said  that  I  would  go  and  see  him. 

"Yes,  suh,  wish  you  would;  maybe  he  would 
see  yo',  and  maybe  he  won't.  He  mighty  fond 
o'  you.  He  won'  see  many  folks.  Several  ladies 
been  to  inquire  after  him,  and  Mrs.  Miller,  she 
and  annur'  lady  too,  sen'  him  things;  but  he 
won'  see  no-body,  an'  he  won'  eat  nuttin'.  I 's 
right  smartly  troubled  about  him,  suh." 

I  was  troubled,  too,  and  repeated  my  inten 
tion  of  calling  to  see  him. 

r  129  ] 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

"I  tell  you,  suh,"  the  old  servant  said  sud 
denly,  "a  man  ought  to  have  wife  and  chillern 
to  take  keer  on  him  when  he  git  ole,  any'ow!" 

I  had  not  thought  of  this  view  of  the  case 
before,  but  it  did  not  strike  me  as  wholly  un 
reasonable. 

When  I  called  to  see  Mr.  Miles  that  even 
ing,  he  received  me. 

I  was  shocked  to  find  what  a  change  there 
was  in  him  since  I  had  seen  him  last. 

I  was  shown  through  the  cold  and  dark  hall, 
and  by  the  vacant  library, — the  door  of  which 
stood  open  as  I  passed,  and  the  fireplace  of 
which  showed  empty  and  black, — and  up  the 
wide  stairs  to  the  room  Mr.  Miles  occupied. 

He  was  sitting  up  in  his  old  arm-chair  by 
the  fire  which  was  the  only  cheerful  thing  I 
had  seen  in  the  house. 

If  I  had  thought  the  old  man  lonely  when  I 
was  there  before,  much  more  he  seemed  so 
now :  he  was  absolutely  solitary.  A  row  of 
[  130] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

books  was  on  the  table  beside  him,  but  their 
very  number  was  an  evidence  that  he  had  no 
appetite  for  them,  and  had  them  but  to  taste. 

The  only  volume  that  looked  as  if  he  had 
been  using  it  was  an  old  Bible.  It  lay  nearest 
him  on  his  table,  and  had  a  marker  in  it. 

He  was  only  partly  dressed,  and  had  on  an 
old,  long,  flowered  dressing-gown  and  slippers, 
presenting  a  marked  contrast  to  his  general 
neatness  of  apparel,  whilst  a  beard,  which  he 
had  allowed  to  grow  for  a  month  or  more, 
testified  to  his  feebleness  and  added  to  the 
change  in  his  appearance. 

I  never  saw  a  picture  of  dejection  greater 
than  he  presented  as  I  entered.  His  head  was 
sunk  on  his  breast,  and  loneliness  seemed  to 
encircle  him  round  almost  palpably. 

I  think  my  visit  cheered  him  a  little,  though 
he  was  strangely  morose,  and  spoke  of  the 
world  with  unwonted  bitterness.  He  was,  how 
ever,  manifestly  pleased  at  my  coming  to  see 
[131] 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

him,  though  he  dwelt  on  the  regret  he  felt  at 
the  trouble  he  caused  me. 

I  tried  to  interest  him  in  books  and  engage 
him  in  talking  of  them.  But  he  declared  that 
they  were  like  people,  they  interested  only 
when  one  was  strong  and  vigorous,  and  de 
serted  you  when  you  were  ill  or  unfortunate. 

"They  fail  you  at  the  crucial  time,  sir,"  he 
said  bitterly.  "They  forsake  you  or  bore  you." 

I  said  I  hoped  they  were  not  so  bad  as 
that. 

"Yes,  sir,  they  are!"  he  asserted  testily.  "I 
esteemed  them  my  friends ;  lived  with  them, 
cultivated  them,  and  at  the  very  moment  when 
I  needed  them  most  they  failed  me !" 

He  reached  over  and  took  up  the  old  Bible 
from  his  table. 

"This  book  alone,"  he  said,  "has  held  out. 
This  has  not  deserted  me.  I  have  read  some 
thing  of  all  the  philosophies,  but  none  has  the 
spirituality  and  power  that  I  find  in  certain 
[  132  ] 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

parts  of  this.  No  wonder  Scott  said,  'There  is 
but  one  book.'" 

He  laid  the  book  down  again,  and  I  picked 
it  up  idly  and  opened  it  at  the  place  where  his 
paper  was.  A  marked  passage  caught  my  eye. 

"As  one  whom  his  mother  comforteth" 

I  laid  the  book  back  from  where  I  had  taken 
it. 

"That  volume  was  my  mother's/'  said  the 
old  man,  softly.  "She  died  with  it  on  her  pil 
low,  as  she  had  lived  with  it  in  her  heart." 

I  persuaded  him  before  I  left  to  let  me  send 
a  doctor  to  see  him ;  and  coming  away,  I  went 
by  and  saw  Dr.  Williams,  one  of  the  leading 
physicians  in  the  town,  who  said  he  would  go 
to  him  at  once. 

I  called  to  see  the  doctor  next  day  to  ask 
about  the  old  fellow,  and  he  said  he  was  a  very 
ill  man. 

"He  is  going  to  die,"  said  the  doctor,  calmly. 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

"Well,  Doctor,  ought  not  he  to  have  some 
one  to  stay  with  him?"  I  asked. 

"Of  course  he  ought,"  said  the  doctor;  "and 
I  have  told  him  so.  But  he  is  a  very  difficult 
man  to  deal  with.  What  can  you  do  with  him  ? 
He  is  going  to  die  anyhow,  and  knows  it,  and 
he  says  the  idea  of  any  one  staying  in  the 
house  with  him  makes  him  nervous.  I  have 
told  his  man  William  to  stay  in  the  house  to 
night,  but  I  don't  know  that  he  will  let  him 
do  it." 

I  went  to  see  Mr.  Miles  that  night,  for  I 
was  very  anxious  about  him,  and  found  Will 
iam  much  stirred  up,  and  sincerely  glad  to  see 
me.  He  had  proposed  to  stay  with  him  as  the 
doctor  had  directed,  but  the  old  gentleman 
had  positively  forbidden  it. 

"He  won'    have   no-body   roun*  him  'tall, 

suh,"  said  the  old  servant,  hopelessly.  "Two 

or  three  people  been  heah  to  see  him  to-day, 

but  he  won'  see  none  on  'em ;  he  '11  hardly  see 

[134] 


OF     THE      BLACK     STOCK 

me,  an'  he  tell  me  when  bedtime  come,  jes  to 
shet  up  as  ushal,  an'  let  him  'lone. 

"But  I'm  gwine  to  stay  in  dat  house  to 
night,  don*  keer  what  he  say!"  said  the  old 
servant,  positively. 

I  asked  if  he  thought  the  old  gentleman 
would  see  me.  And  we  agreed  that  the  best 
thing  for  me  to  do  was  to  go  right  up  and  an 
nounce  myself. 

So  I  did  it,  and  found  him  sitting  up  as  be 
fore.  He  looked,  if  anything,  feebler  than  he 
had  done  the  evening  before.  He  talked  in  a 
weaker  voice,  and  was  more  drowsy.  He  said 
he  could  not  lie  down.  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
sit  up  with  him  that  night  if  he  did  not  actu 
ally  drive  me  out  of  the  house ;  so  after  a  time, 
as  he  seemed  sleepy,  I  settled  myself  comfort 
ably  in  an  arm-chair,  which  I  emptied  of  a 
score  of  books. 

I  think  my  presence  comforted  him,  for  he 
said  little,  and  simply  drowsed  on.  Toward 
[  135  ] 


THE     OLD      GENTLEMAN 

midnight  he  roused  up,  and  having  taken  a 
stimulant  which  the  doctor  had  left  him, 
seemed  stronger  and  rather  inclined  to  talk. 

The  first  question  he  asked  surprised  me. 
He  said  suddenly,  "Is  your  mother  living?" 

I  told  him  that  she  was. 

"That  is  the  greatest  blessing  a  man  can 
have,"  he  said.  "Mine  died  when  I  was  ten 
years  old,  and  I  have  never  gotten  over  the 
loss.  I  have  missed  her  every  hour  since.  Had 
she  lived,  my  life  might  have  been  different. 
It  might  not  then  have  been  the  failure  which 
it  has  been." 

I  was  surprised  to  hear  him  speak  so  of  him 
self,  for  I  had  always  thought  of  him  as  one  of 
the  most  self-contained  of  men,  and  I  made 
some  polite  disavowal  of  his  remark.  He  turned 
on  me  almost  fiercely: 

"Yes,  sir,  it  has  been  a  complete  and  utter 
failure!"  He  spoke  bitterly.  "I  was  a  man  of 
parts,  and  look  at  me  now!  A  woman's  influ- 
[136] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

ence  might  have  changed  me." 

As  he  appeared  inclined  to  talk,  I  prepared 
to  listen.  He  seemed  to  find  a  grim  pleasure  in 
talking  of  himself  and  reviewing  his  life.  His 
mother's  death  he  continued  to  dwell  on. 

"She  used  to  sit  out  on  that  seat  under  the 
beech  tree/'  he  told  me.  "And  I  love  that  tree 
better  than  almost  anything  in  the  world.  It  is 
associated  with  almost  every  happy  moment  I 
have  ever  spent. 

"Young  man,"  he  said,  sitting  up  in  the 
energy  of  his  speech,  "marry — marry.  I  do 
not  say  marry  for  your  own  happiness, — though 
Heaven  knows  I  am  a  proof  of  the  truth  of  my 
words,  dying  here  alone  and  almost  friendless ! 
— but  marry  for  the  good  you  may  accomplish 
in  the  world  and  the  happiness  you  may  give 
others." 

Not  to  marry,  he  said,  was  the  extreme  of 
selfishness,  for  if  a  man  does  not  marry,  gen 
erally  it  is  because  he  is  figuring  for  something 
[137] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

more  than  love.  He  then  told  me  that  his  great 
fault  was  selfishness. 

"I  made  one  mistake,  sir,"  he  said,  "early 
in  life,  and  it  has  lasted  me  ever  since.  I 
put  Brains  before  everything,  Intellect  before 
Heart.  It  was  all  selfishness :  that  was  the  rock 
on  which  I  split.  I  was  a  man  of  parts,  sir,  and 
I  thought  that  with  my  intellect  I  could  do 
everything.  But  I  could  not." 

I  began  to  think  of  my  own  life. 

<e Young  man,  were  you  ever  in  love?"  he 
asked. 

Under  the  sudden  question  I  stammered, 
and  finally  said,  I  did  not  know;  I  believed 
I  had  been,  but  it  was  over  now,  anyhow. 

"Young  man,"  he  said,  "treasure  it — treas 
ure  it  as  your  life.  I  was  in  love  once — really 
in  love  only  once — and  I  believed  I  had  my 
happiness  in  my  own  hands,  and  I  flung  it 
away,  and  wrecked  my  life." 

He  then  proceeded  to  tell  me  the  story  of 
[  138  ] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

his  love-affair,  and  how,  instead  of  being  con 
tent  with  the  affection  of  the  lovely  and  beau 
tiful  girl  whose  heart  he  had  won,  he  had 
wanted  to  excel  with  every  one,  and  to  shine 
in  all  eyes. 

"And  I  simply  flung  away  salvation!"  he 
said. 

"I  am  not  speaking  groundlessly,"  he  as 
serted  ;  "for  I  was  not  even  left  the  poor  con 
solation  of  doubt  as  to  whether  I  should  have 
succeeded.  When  at  last  I  awoke  from  my  be 
sotted  condition  my  chance  was  gone.  The 
woman  for  wrhom  I  had  given  up  the  one  I 
loved,  because  I  thought  she  would  advance 
me  in  life,  proved  as  shallow  and  heartless  as 
I  was  myself,  and,  after  I  had  made  my  plans 
and  prepared  my  house  for  her,  threw  me  over 
remorselessly  for  what  she  deemed  a  better 
match,  and  married  a  rich  fool ;  and  when  at 
length  I  went  back  to  the  woman  I  loved  and 
offered  her  my  heart,  wrhich,  indeed,  had  al- 
[  139] 


THE      OLD     GENTLEMAN 

ways  been  hers,  she  had  given  hers  to  another. 

"Heaven  knows  I  did  not  blame  her,  for 
though  I  had  been  fool  enough  to  despise  him, 
he  was  a  thousand  times  worthier  of  her  than 
I  was,  and  made  her  a  thousand  times  happier 
than  I  should  have  done  with  my  selfishness. 

"She  told  me  that  she  had  cared  for  me 
once,  and  might  have  married  me  had  I  spoken ; 
but  that  time  was  long  past,  and  she  now  loved 
another  better  than  she  had  ever  loved  me. 

"  My  pride  was  stung ;  but  I  fell  back  on  my 
intellect,  and  determined  again  to  marry  brill 
iantly.  I  might  have  done  so,  perhaps,  but  I 
could  not  forget  the  woman  I  loved,  and  I 
was  not  quite  base  enough  to  offer  again  an 
empty  heart  to  another  woman,  and  so  the  time 
passed  by. 

"I  had  means  enough  to  obviate  the  neces 
sity  of  working  for  my  support,  and  so  did  not 
work  as  I  should  have  done  had  I  been  de 
pendent  on  my  profession,  and  men  who  had 
[140] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

less  than  half  my  intellect  outstripped  me.  At 
length,  having  no  incentive  to  labor,  I  threw 
up  my  profession  and  travelled  abroad.  In  time 
that  failed  me,  and  I  returned  to  my  beech 
tree  only  to  find  that  I  had  dropped  out  of  the 
current  of  life,  and  had  exchanged  the  happi 
ness  of  a  home  for  the  experiences  of  a  wan 
derer. 

"I  had  lost  the  universal  touch  in  all  the 
infinite  little  things  which  make  up  the  sum 
of  life,  and  even  my  friends,  with  few  excep 
tions,  were  not  just  what  they  had  been.  If 
they  were  necessary  to  me,  I  was  no  longer 
necessary  to  them.  They  had  other  ties ;  had 
married,  had  children,  and  new  interests  formed 
in  my  absence.  I  found  myself  alone ;  every 
where  a  visitor;  welcomed  at  some  places  — 
because  I  was  agreeable  when  I  chose  to  be  — 
tolerated  at  others,  but  still  only  a  visitor,  an 
outsider,  an  alien. 

"Then  I  fell  back  on  my  books.  They  lasted 
[141  J 


THE      OLD     GENTLEMAN 

me  for  a  while,  and  I  read  omnivorously;  but 
only  for  amusement,  and  in  time  my  appetite 
was  satiated  and  my  stomach  turned.  I  had 
not  the  tastes  of  a  scholar,  nor  even  of  a  stu 
dent,  but  only  those  of  a  dilettante.  I  was  too 
social  to  enjoy  long  alone  even  books,  and  I 
did  not  read  for  use. 

"So  I  turned  to  the  world  again,  to  find  it 
even  worse  than  it  had  been  before.  I  was  as 
completely  alone  as  if  I  had  been  on  a  desert 
island,  and  it  was  too  late  for  me  to  re-enter 
life." 

I  do  not  mean  to  give  this  as  a  connected 
speech,  for  it  was  not :  it  was  what  he  said  at 
times  through  the  long  night,  as  he  dwelt  on 
the  past  and  felt  like  talking. 

Finally  he  broke  in  suddenly: 

"Cultivate  the  affections,  young  man :  culti 
vate  the  affections.  Take  an  old  man's  word 
for  it,  that  the  men  who  are  happy  are  those 
who  love  and  are  loved.  Better  love  the  mean- 
[142] 


OF     THE     BLACK      STOCK 

est  thing  that  lives  than  only  yourself.  Even  as 
a  matter  of  policy  it  is  best.  I  had  the  best  in 
tellect  of  any  young  man  of  my  time  and  set, 
and  I  have  seen  men  with  half  my  brains,  un 
der  the  inspiration  of  love  and  the  obligations 
and  duties  it  creates,  go  forward  to  success 
which  I  could  never  achieve.  Whilst  I  was  nar 
rowing  and  drying  up,  they  were  broadening 
and  reaching  out  in  every  direction.  Often  I 
have  gone  along  the  street  and  envied  the 
poorest  man  I  met  with  his  children  on  their 
holiday  strolls.  My  affections  had  been  awak 
ened,  but  too  late  in  life ;  and  I  could  not  win 
friendship  then.  That  child  that  you  had  in 
your  arms  the  day  I  met  you  was  the  first 
child  I  had  seen  in  years  who  looked  at  me 
without  either  fear  or  repugnance." 

He  sat  back  in  a  reverie. 

The  old  man  had,  of  course,  mentioned  no 
names ;  but  I  had  recalled  the  conversation  of 
the  two  ladies  that  evening,  and  now  under 
[  143  ] 


THE      OLD     GENTLEMAN 

his  earnestness  I  was  drawn  to  admit  that  I 
Aad  been  in  love,  and  feared  I  was  yet. 

He  was  deeply  interested,  and  when  I  told 
him  that  he  had  already  had  his  part  in  my 
affair,  he  was  no  less  astonished. 

Then  I  recalled  to  him  the  advice  he  had 
given  me  on  the  street  corner  on  that  May 
morning  several  years  before.  He  remembered 
the  incident  of  the  carriage,  with  its  burden  of 
young  girls,  but  he  had  had  no  idea  I  was  the 
young  man.  He  was  evidently  pleased  at  the 
coincidence. 

"So  you  took  my  advice  and  picked  a  girl 
out  of  that  very  carriage,  did  you  ?"  His  wan 
face  lit  with  the  first  smile  I  had  seen  on  it 
since  I  had  been  with  him. 

"  Whose  carriage  was  it,  and  what  was  her 
name,  if  you  do  not  mind  telling  an  old  man?" 
he  asked.  Then,  as  I  hesitated  a  little,  he  said 
gently: 

"Oh,  no  matter;  don't  feel  obliged  to  tell  me." 
[144] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

"No/'  I  said;  "I  was  only  thinking.  It  was 
the  'Hill-and-Dale'  carriage,  and  her  name  is 
'Elizabeth  Dale.'" 

"Elizabeth  Dale?"  he  said,  his  eyes  opening 
wide  as  they  rested  on  my  face ;  and  then,  as 
he  turned  to  the  fire  and  let  them  fall,  he  said 
to  himself,  "How  strange!" 

"Has  she  beauty?"  he  inquired,  presently, 
after  a  reverie,  in  which  he  repeated  to  him 
self,  softly,  over  and  over,  "Very  strange." 

"I  think  she  has,"  I  said,  "and  others  think 
so,  too.  I  believe  you  do  yourself." 

"How  is  that  ?  I  have  never  seen  her." 

"Yes,  you  have,"  I  said.  "Do  you  remember 
your  hat  blowing  off  one  day  last  spring  on 
Richardson  Street,  and  a  young  girl  running 
out  of  a  house,  bareheaded,  and  catching  it  for 
you  ?  Well,  that  was  Elizabeth  Dale." 

"Was  it,  indeed  ?"  he  said;  and  then  added: 
"I  ought  to  have  known  it,  she  looked  so  like 
her !  Only  I  thought  it  was  simply  her  beauty 
[145] 


THE      OLD     GENTLEMAN 

which  made  the  resemblance.  All  youth  and 
beauty  coupled  with  sweetness  have  brought 
up  Elizabeth  Green  to  me  through  the  years," 
he  said  gently. 

"  And  the  child  who  offered  you  the  bread 
and  jam  that  day  was  her  nephew." 

But  he  was  now  past  further  surprise,  and 
simply  said, 

"Indeed!" 

"Do  you  think  she  would  come  and  see 
me  ?"  he  asked  me  presently,  after  a  long  rev 
erie,  in  which  he  had  been  looking  into  the 
fire. 

I  said  I  was  sure  she  would  if  she  knew  he 
wished  it ;  and  then  I  went  off  into  a  reverie, 
too. 

" Cannot  you  bring  her  ?"  he  asked. 

"Why,  I  do  not  know —  Yes,  I  suppose  she 
would  come  with  me,  —  only — only — .  Why, 
yes,  I  could  see  if  she  would." 

"Ask  her  to  come  and  see  an  old  man  who 
[146] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

has  not  long  to  stay  here,  and  who  wishes  to 
see  the  girl  whom  you  are  going  to  marry." 

"But  I  am  not  going  to  marry  her,"  I  said. 
"We  barely  speak  now." 

"Then  the  girl  to  whom  you  ' barely  speak 
now,'"  he  said,  with  something  of  a  smile,  and 
then  added  gravely:  "the  girl  who  picked  up 
his  hat  for  him, — an  old  man  who  knew  her 
mother." 

I  promised  to  do  my  best  to  get  Miss  Dale 
to  come  and  see  him,  and  then  the  old  fellow 
dropped  off  into  a  doze,  which  soon  became  a 
sounder  sleep  than  he  had  had  at  all. 


[147] 


XII 

ELIZABETH     DALE     MAKES 
TEA     FOR    TWO     LONE     MEN 

THE  next  day,  after  a  long  contention 
with  myself,  I  called  on  Miss  Dale  to 
propose  the  visit  which  the  Old  Gentleman  of 
the  Black  Stock  had  requested. 

As  I  mounted  the  steps  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
charging  a  battery.  But  the  servant  said  she 
had  gone  to  drive  with  Mr.  Goodrich.  The 
woman  gave  me  a  look  which  I  would  have 
given  much  to  interpret.  Having  screwed  my 
courage,  or  whatever  it  was,  up  to  the  point  of 
visiting  Miss  Dale  at  all,  I  found  it  stuck  there ; 
and  even  in  the  face  of  this  last  outrage  to  my 
feelings, — going  to  ride  with  the  man  about 
whom  I  had  quarrelled  with  her, — I  called  on 
her  again  that  afternoon,  late  enough  to  insure 
her  return  home  and  her  presence  in  the  house. 

I  will  not  undertake  to  describe  my  sensa- 
[1MJ 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

tions  as  I  sat  in  the  little  darkened  parlor,  hat 
in  hand  and  overcoat  still  on,  to  indicate  that 
I  had  not  called  socially,  but  on  business,  and 
business  alone. 

I  awaited  the  return  of  the  servant  who  an 
nounced  me,  in  some  doubt,  if  not  apprehen 
sion,  for  I  was  not  absolutely  sure  that  Miss 
Dale  would  see  me.  So  when  the  maid  returned 
and  said  Miss  Elizabeth  would  be  down  di 
rectly,  and  proceeded  to  light  the  gas  in  the 
parlor,  I  found  my  heart  beating  unpleasantly. 

Then  the  servant  disappeared,  and  left  me 
in  solitude. 

I  looked  over  the  photographs  and  into  the 
old  books  with  which  I  was  once  so  familiar, 
and  listened  to  the  movement  going  on  up 
stairs.  Then  I  sat  down.  But  the  glare  was  so 
oppressive  that  I  rose  and  turned  down  the 
light  a  little. 

Presently  I  heard  some  one — or  something — 
coming  down  the  stairs,  a  step  at  a  time,  and 
[149] 


THE      OLD     GENTLEMAN 

when  it  reached  the  point  where  I  could  see  it 
through  the  door,  it  proved  to  be  Burton. 

"I  tummin'  to  see  you,"  he  said  to  me 
through  the  banisters,  calling  me  by  my  name, 
for  we  had  been  famous  friends  that  summer. 
"I  dot  on  bitches  !" 

"Come  on."  I  felt  cheered  by  the  boy's 
friendliness. 

He  came  in  and  showed  himself  off,  pointed 
out  his  pockets,  stuck  his  hands  in  them,  and 
strutted  around,  and  rode  "a  cock-horse"  with 
all  a  boy's  delight.  I  was  just  feeling  some 
thing  of  my  old  easiness  when  he  stopped  sud 
denly,  and  striking  an  attitude,  said : 

"I  dot  a  horse." 

"What !  Who  gave  it  to  you  ?" 

"Mist'  Oodrich." 

This  was  a  blow. 

"Mist'  Oodrich  dave  me  dis  too,"  diving  a 
hand  into  one  of  his  pockets  and  tugging  at 
something. 

[  150] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

But  I  did  not  learn  what  it  was,  for  just 
then  I  heard  another  step  coming  slowly  down 
the  stair.  The  boy  heard  it,  too,  and  with  a 
shout  ran  out  to  meet  his  aunt. 

Fortunately,  I  was  sitting  somewhat  behind 
the  door,  so  I  was  screened  from  observation 
and  could  not  see  what  went  on  outside.  But 
I  could  hear.  The  first  thing  was  Burton's  an 
nouncement  that  I  was  there  in  the  parlor, 
giving  me  by  my  first  name. 

"Yes,  aunty  knows  it,"  in  an  undertone. 

Then  I  heard  her  say  something  to  him  in 
an  even  lower  undertone,  and  he  answered : 

"No,  no!" 

After  that  I  heard  her  low  voice  in  a  sort  of 
subdued  murmur,  as  she  talked  to  him  to  try 
to  persuade  him  to  do  something, — in  a  tone 
Circe  might  well  have  used  to  wile  Ulysses, — 
and  his  replies  : 

"No,  no,  don't  want  to  do  up  tairs."  The 
little  monster ! 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

Then  she  grew  more  positive,  and  he  started, 
with  a  little  whimper  as  he  went  up. 

I  heard  her  say,  "If  you  don't  cry,  I  will  let 
you  ride  my  horse  the  first  time  I  go  to  ride." 
This  soothed  him. 

"Awe  yite!"  And  he  went  on  up  as  rapidly 
as  one  step  at  a  time  would  take  him. 

There  was  a  pause  while  she  waited  to  see 
him  pass  up  beyond  the  chance  of  return,  and 
then  I  heard  her  begin  to  descend  again. 

As  she  approached  the  door  I  tried  to  appear 
natural,  but  I  felt  myself  decidedly  discomposed. 

She  came  in  with  a  great  deal  of  dignity, 
and,  I  must  say,  ease  of  manner.  I,  however, 
was  not  to  be  put  at  my  ease.  I  hardly  waited 
for  her  to  make  her  little  apology  for  keeping 
me  waiting.  She  had  "just  come  in  from  a 
ride,  and  had  to  take  off  her  hat." 

It  was  not  necessary  to  acquaint  me  with 
her  having  been  to  ride !  I  knew  that  quite  as 
well  as  she ! 

[  152] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

I,  without  delay,  therefore,  explained  my 
call,  and  relieved  her  mind  of  any  misappre 
hension  she  might  be  under  as  to  the  object 
of  my  visit.  I  was  still  stiff  and  ungracious 
enough,  Heaven  knows,  and  she  was  evidently 
a  little  surprised  at  my  manner,  for  she  be 
came  more  formal  herself.  But  I  had  made 
myself  plain,  and  had  set  forth  the  old  man's 
loneliness  with  some  skill.  I  saw  her  eyes  soften 
and  her  face  grow  tender. 

And  though  she  had  stiffened  a  little,  she 
said  she  would  go  as  soon  as  she  could  put  on 
her  hat — if  I  would  wait.  If  not,  she  would 
get  her  brother-in-law  to  take  her  after  tea. 
I  said  I  would  wait,  and  she  left  me. 
I  joined  her  in  the  little  hall  as  she  came 
down-stairs  again,  and  ceremoniously  opened 
the  door  for  her  and  followed  her  into  the 
street. 

The  only  thing  we  talked  of  was  the  old 
gentleman  she  was  going  to  see,  and   I  was 
[  153  ] 


THE      OLD     GENTLEMAN 

aware  that  my  voice  sounded  very  unnatural. 
Hers  seemed  as  soft  as  usual,  but  a  little  pen 
sive. 

I  stole  a  glance  at  her  now  and  then  and 
thought  that,  as  well  as  I  could  tell  in  the 
waning  light,  she  was  a  little  thinner  than 
when  I  saw  her  last.  This  gave  me  a  certain 
base  satisfaction. 

The  trees  on  the  street  were  leafless,  and 
the  air  was  chilly  and  a  bit  raw  as  the  dusk  of 
the  winter  evening  fell.  The  tree  tops  looked 
like  an  etching  against  the  steely  sky. 

I  led  the  way  to  the  next  street,  and  let  her 
in  at  the  old  gate  where  I  had  first  met  Mr. 
Basham  Miles  several  years  before,  and  which 
I  had  helped  her  over  that  summer  evening 
when  we  read  her  mother's  initials  on  the 
beech  tree. 

We  went  up  the  long,  uneven  walk,  through 
the  old  yard  towards  the  now  dark  house,  and 
I  remember  the  mournful  way  the  white,  dry 
[154] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

leaves  on  the  lower  boughs  of  the  old  beech 
rustled  in  the  chilly  wind. 

William  Kemp  opened  the  door  after  my 
second  knock,  and  looked  with  unfeigned  sur 
prise  at  my  companion.  He  said  the  old  gen 
tleman  was  much  the  same,  and  he  would  find 
out  whether  he  could  see  us. 

I  determined  to  take  no  chances ;  so,  whilst 
William  lit  the  gas  in  the  dark,  cold  library,  I 
"tipped"  up-stairs  and  went  to  the  old  gentle 
man's  door. 

I  found  him  glad  to  see  me,  and  as  ready  as 
he  could  be  to  receive  his  visitor.  So,  without 
giving  him  time  to  think  much  about  it,  I 
acted  on  his  half  consent,  and  a  moment  later 
showed  Elizabeth  Dale  into  his  room. 

She  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  threshold 
and  then  advanced,  and  as  the  old  gentleman 
tried  to  rise  to  greet  her,  quickened  her  step, 
giving  a  little  exclamation  of  protest  against 
his  getting  up. 

[  155] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

I  have  never  forgotten  the  picture  they  pre 
sented.  She  sat  by  his  side,  and  he  held  her 
hand,  so  white  and  slender  and  fine,  his  wrin 
kled  long  fingers  clasped  tremulously  around 
hers,  as  he  begged  her  pardon  for  the  trouble 
he  had  given  her,  and  thanked  her  for  the 
favor  she  had  granted  him. 

He  had  more  strength  than  I  had  seen  him 
show. 

The  fine,  old-fashioned  courtliness  of  the  one 
and  the  sweet  graciousness  of  the  other  were 
counterparts,  whilst  the  grayness  and  feeble 
ness  of  the  invalid  and  the  roses  and  health  of 
the  young  girl  set  each  other  off  in  strong  con 
trast. 

They  might  have  sat  for  Immortal  Age  and 
Immortal  Youth. 

In  a  little  while  she  was  holding  the  old 
man's  hand,  not  he  hers,  and  as  he  mentioned 
my  name  in  terms  of  kindness,  I  drew  some 
what  apart  and  left  them  together,  he  doing 
[  156  ] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

most  of  the  talking,  and  she  listening  and 
stroking  his  hand  as  if  she  had  been  his 
daughter. 

Presently — he  had  been  talking  of  his  youth 
in  that  house,  and  of  the  appearance  that  part 
of  the  town  used  to  present  when  the  hill  was 
crowned  with  houses  embowered  in  trees  —  he 
said  : 

"My  dear,  did  you  ever  hear  your  mother 
speak  of  me  ?"  His  voice  was  so  gentle  that  I 
scarcely  caught  it. 

I  could  see  her  embarrassment.  She  said, 
very  slowly,  after  trying  to  recollect : 

«I  —  cannot  remember  that  I  ever  did." 

And  then,  as  if  distressed  that  she  might 
have  given  him  pain,  she  said  kindly,  leaning 
forward  and  stroking  his  hand  softly: 

"She  may  have  done  it,  you  know,  without 
my  recollecting  it,  for  I  was  a  heedless  young 
thing." 

How  sweet  her  voice  sounded,  and  what 
[157] 


THE      OLD     GENTLEMAN 

sorrow  was  in  her  eyes, — sorrow  that  she  must 
have  given  that  old  man  sorrow,  though  she 
sacrificed  all  to  Truth ! 

He  did  not  speak  immediately;  but  pres 
ently  he  said  gravely: 

"I  am  not  surprised."  And  then  he  added 
quietly : 

"My  dear,  I  used  to  be  in  love  with  your 
mother,  and  I  never  loved  any  one  else.  I  was 
most  unworthy  of  her.  But  I  have  carried  her 
image  in  my  heart  all  these  years." 

Without  a  word  the  young  girl  rose  and 
leant  over  and  kissed  him. 

Just  then  William  opened  the  door  and 
brought  in  a  waiter  with  tea-things  for  his 
master's  tea.  It  was  not  very  inviting,  though 
it  was  the  best  the  faithful  William  and  his 
wife  could  do. 

Without  a  word  of  apology  the  young  girl 
stepped  forward  and  took  the  tray,  and  then, 
with  no  more  explanation  than  if  she  had  done 
[  158] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

it  every  evening  of  her  life  for  him,  she  set  to 
work  to  prepare  the  old  man's  tea. 

It  was  marvellous  to  see  what  a  woman's 
hands  could  do.  Her  touch  was  as  deft  as 
an  enchantress'  wand.  Out  of  the  somewhat 
crowded  and  unappetizing  waiter  came  an  or 
der  and  daintiness  which  were  miraculous. 
And  when  she  handed  Mr.  Miles  his  tea  in 
the  old  blue  china  cup  I  knew  that  he  could 
not  help  taking  it. 

The  same  instinct  seemed  to  teach  her  wrhat 
was  needed  in  the  room.  She  flitted  hither 
and  thither,  a  touch  here,  a  touch  there — 
and  when  she  arose  to  leave  a  half-hour  later, 
the  room  was  transformed ;  she  left  behind  her 
comfort  and  something  like  order  where  before 
there  had  been  only  confusion.  She  left  more 
than  that — she  left  an  old  man  cheered  and 
comforted  as  he  had  not  been  in  years. 

As  she  rose  to  go  she  said : 

"I  want  you  now  to  grant  me  a  favor — I 

r  159] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

want  you  to  let  me  come  again? — To-morrow? 
—Will  you?" 

No  one  could  have  resisted  that  appeal, 
least  of  all,  Basham  Miles ;  for  she  was  leaning 
over  him,  arranging  a  pillow  for  him  as  he  had 
never  had  one  arranged  before  in  all  his  life. 

He  could  not  answer  her  question;  he 
merely  took  her  hand  in  both  his,  and  raising 
it  to  his  lips,  said  tremulously: 

"God  bless  you!" 

The  young  girl  bent  over  and  kissed  him 
good-night — kissed  him  twice,  as  she  might 
have  kissed  her  father. 

He  said  again,  "God  bless  you!"  and  again, 
when  she  was  at  the  door,  he  repeated,  "God 
bless  you ! " 

We  came  down  the  stairs  without  a  word, 
and  William  let  us  out  of  the  door. 

We  were  down  on  the  walk  when  I  remem 
bered  that  I  had  not  told  him  that  I  would  re 
turn  later,  and  I  went  back  to  the  door. 
[160] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

When  I  came  down  the  steps  again  my 
companion  was  standing  a  little  way  down  the 
walk  waiting  for  me,  and  I  found  she  had  her 
hand  to  her  eyes.  I  said — I  do  not  remember 
just  what  I  said,  but  she  turned  a  little  wray 
off  the  walk,  and  sat  down  on  a  seat  under  the 
nearest  tree.  It  was  the  old  Beech  tree  which 
Basham  Miles  treasured  so. 

"That  poor  old  man!"  she  sobbed,  and  fell 
to  weeping  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

I  never  could  see  either  a  man  or  a  woman 
weep  and  remain  unmoved.  I  dropped  down 
by  her,  hardly  knowing  what  I  was  doing,  ex 
cept  that  Elizabeth  Dale  was  there  weeping 
and  needed  comforting,  and  I  was  at  her  side. 
And  before  I  knew  it,  I  had  forgotten  my 
pride,  my  jealousy,  everything,  and  had  told 
her  all  that  was  in  my  heart.  It  was  much.  But 
it  was  all  in  one  word.  I  loved  her. 

She  did  not  stop  crying  immediately,  and 
she  did  not  say  a  word.  But  before  I  was 
[161] 


THE      OLD     GENTLEMAN 

through  she  was  sobbing  on  my  shoulder,  and 
she  did  not  take  her  hand  away  from  me.  And 
when  I  came  out  of  Basham  Miles's  broken 
gate  I  did  not  hate  Hamilton  Goodrich  any 
more.  In  fact,  I  was  rather  sorry  for  him;  for 
I  had  learned  that  he  had  received  his  final, 
though  by  no  means  his  first,  refusal  that  after 
noon. 

I  do  not  remember  just  how  we  got  home, 
but  I  suppose  we  walked.  I  only  know  that  it 
was  through  a  new  town  and  a  new  life. 

We  were  too  late  for  tea,  but  I  went  in,  and 
Elizabeth  Dale  made  tea  for  the  second  time 
that  evening,  though  it  was  her  first  time  for 
me. 

The  other  members  of  the  family  were  all 
out  of  the  way,  and  as  I  sat  opposite  Elizabeth 
at  the  shining  old  mahogany  table,  with  its 
odd  pieces  of  old  silver,  which  I  knew  must 
be  bits  of  salvage  from  Hill-and-Dale,  I  felt 
as  a  sea-beaten  mariner  might  feel  who  has 
[162] 


"     ft    '-'ff- 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

reached  home  after  long  voyaging.  I  had  been 
tossed  on  many  seas,  but  had  reached  haven 
at  last. 

The  Old  Gentleman  of  the  Black  Stock  had 
proved  a  good  pilot. 


[163] 


XIII 
BASHAM     MILES'S    WILL 

WHEN  I  went  back  to  Mr.  Miles's, 
which  I  did  not  do,  I  believe,  until 
Elizabeth  Dale  sent  me  off,  William  told  me 
that  he  had  gone  to  bed  and  was  asleep,  and 
had  told  him  he  might  stay  in  his  room  that 
night,  and  I  must  not  come  until  next  day. 

This  I  acceded  to,  and  the  next  evening  I 
took  Elizabeth  Dale  to  make  tea  for  him  again. 
He  seemed  really  better :  his  eye  had  a  new 
light  in  it,  and  his  voice  a  new  tone. 

Elizabeth  Dale  went  to  see  him  every  day 
after  that,  twice  a  day,  and  sat  with  him,  took 
him  flowers,  and  made  tea  for  him.  Other 
friends  came  too,  and  he  saw  them  and  en 
joyed  them. 

One  afternoon  Elizabeth  took  her  little 
nephew  to  see  him,  and  he  enjoyed  the  child 
and  took  him  on  his  knee  and  played  with 
[164] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

him.  In  fact,  the  old  gentleman  appeared  so 
much  better  that  we  were  all  talking  about  his 
being  out  again — all  except  himself.  There 
fore,  I  was  much  shocked  one  morning  when 
William  Kemp  knocked  at  my  door  and  told 
me  he  was  dead.  He  had  retired  that  night, 
"about  as  usual,"  and  when  William  went  to 
him  in  the  morning  he  found  him  dead  in  his 
bed. 

"He's  layin'  dyah,  jes  same's  he  'sleep," 
said  the  old  servant,  mournfully. 

"He  tol'  me  when  he  die  he  want  me  to 
send  for  you  to  come — an*  dat  's  de  reason  I 
come." 

I  went  around  immediately  and  found  sev 
eral  neighbors  there  already,  for  he  had  more 
friends  than  he  had  known  of. 

By  common  consent  it  appeared  that  I  was 
the  person  to  take  charge  of  arrangements. 
William  had  told  them  what  his  old  master 
had  said. 

[165] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

"An*  dere  's  a  letter  for  you,  suh,"  he  said  to 
me.  "Somewhar  in  he  ole  secketary.  He  writ 
it  not  long  ago,  an*  he  tole  me  he  had  put  it  in 
dyah  for  you,  and  I  wuz  to  tell  you  'bout  it  when 
he  died.  He  said  dat  would  tell  all  'bout  de 
'rangements  for  de  funeral  an*  ev' thing.  He 
knowed  he  wuz  gwine,  suh,  better  'n  we  all." 

Thus  notified,  some  time  during  the  day, 
after  I  had  telegraphed  to  his  relatives,  none 
of  whom  were  very  near  or  bore  his  name,  I 
looked  for  and  found  the  letter. 

It  was  a  large  envelope,  addressed  to  me 
and  sealed  with  his  crest,  and  on  opening  it  I 
found  a  letter  in  it  couched  in  most  affection 
ate  terms,  and  giving  explicit  directions  as  to 
his  funeral,  which  he  said  he  did  to  save  me 
and  others  trouble. 

He  requested  that  he  might  be  buried  in 
the  simplest  manner  and  with  the  least  ex 
pense  possible,  and  that  his  grave  should  be 
beside  his  mother's. 

r 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

There  was  one  singular  request :  that  a  car 
riage  should  be  provided  especially  for  William 
Kemp  and  his  wife,  and  that  William  should 
be  one  of  the  men  to  lower  him  into  the  grave. 

There  was  in  the  envelope  another  envelope, 
also  sealed  and  addressed  to  me,  and  on  the 
back  was  endorsed: 

"Holograph  Will  of  Basham  Miles. 
To  be  opened  only  after  his  funeral" 

The  relatives  (there  were  only  one  or  two 
of  them  to  come)  arrived  next  day.  And  that 
afternoon,  as  the  winter  sun  sank  below  the 
horizon,  the  little  funeral  procession  crept  out 
to  the  old  and  now  almost  disused  cemetery 
looking  towards  the  west,  and  in  the  soft  after 
glow  of  the  evening  the  remains  of  Basham 
Miles  were  laid  to  rest  beside  those  of  his 
mother,  over  which  rose  a  beautiful  white 
marble  monument  with  a  touching  inscription, 
which  I  knew  was  written  by  him. 
[167] 


THE     OLD     GENTLEMAN 

There  were  not  a  great  many  people  in  the 
church,  and  they  were  nearly  all  old  people,  in 
black.  Among  them  I  observed  my  two  old 
ladies  who  had  told  me  of  Basham  Miles  when 
he  was  young.  They  came  together  in  their 
old,  black  dresses,  the  younger  helping  her 
three  months  senior  quietly  and  pensively 
along. 

The  relatives,  of  course,  walked  first.  But  of 
all  there,  I  was  sure  that  there  was  no  sincerer 
mourner  than  the  young  girl  who  came  last. 
With  her  dark  veil  drawn  close  about  her  little 
head  she  sat  far  back  in  the  church  alone.  But 
I  knew  that  it  was  that  she  might  weep  unob 
served. 

The  will  was  opened  in  the  presence  of  wit 
nesses  that  night,  as  the  relatives  had  to  re 
turn  home.  It  was  all  in  Basham  Miles's  hand 
writing,  and  covered  only  a  single  sheet.  It 
left  a  certain  sum  to  his  "faithful  servants, 
William  Kemp  and  Jane,  his  wife,  to  buy  them 
[168] 


OF     THE     BLACK     STOCK 

a  house  and  lot  of  their  own" ;  bequeathed 
small  amounts  to  two  or  three  distant  rela 
tives ;  left  me  his  library;  left  his  watch  to 
"Burton  Dale  Davis." 

And  then  gave,  "The  old  Bible,  once  my 
sainted  mother's,  together  with  all  the  rest  of 
my  property,  of  every  kind  whatsoever,  to 
Elizabeth  Dale,  youngest  daughter  of  Eliza 
beth  Dale,  formerly  Elizabeth  Green,  now  de 
ceased." 

I  was  appointed  executor. 

The  sole  condition  he  proposed  to  Elizabeth 
Dale  was  that  she  should  try  to  have  the  old 
beech  tree  in  his  yard  spared  as  long  as  was 
practicable.  Even  this,  however,  was  particu 
larly  stated  to  be  but  a  request. 

But  I  feel  sure  that  the  Old  Gentleman  of 
the  Black  Stock  knew  it  would  be  as  binding 
on  my  wife  as  if  it  had  been  in  the  form  of  an 
express  condition,  and  that  so  long  as  Eliza 
beth  Dale  should  live,  the  old  beech  tree, 
[169] 


THE      OLD     GENTLEMAN 

under  which  Basham  Miles  remembered  his 
mother  sitting,  in  his  childhood,  and  on  which 
he  had  carved  her  mother's  name  in  his  youth, 
would  stand  in  proof  that  Basham  Miles  was 
not  forgotten. 


FINIS 


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